


The Dancing Partner

by ewinfic



Series: The Jessie Chronicles [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, F/M, Medical Torture, Mind Rape, Original Character(s), POV First Person, POV Original Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve and Bucky are platonically in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-11 00:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 49,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5606860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewinfic/pseuds/ewinfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt:  "AU in which a young hydra agent is promoted to being some sort of lab tech/assistant/security guard for the Winter Soldier, sometime just before Steve's survival is discovered. The agent is there when the winter soldier is awake, and something triggers a break in programming, and poor Bucky says something just as heartbreaking as the 'but I knew him' line. this causes the hydra agent to begin having Thoughts about the winter soldier and what's been done to him. Eventually the agent will discover that the winter soldier is Bucky Barnes, and, when Caps survival is discovered, decide they must break Bucky out of Hydra, rehabilitate him, and take him back to Steve."</p>
<p>Slight change from the original request:  this story begins after Steve has already awoken and become a part of SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with a message, an urgent message from Pierce to Number Fifteen-Oh-Seven, so classified that it couldn't even be committed to paper, but complex enough to require an EID. That would be me. My job is remembering things, complicated things, long things, secret things, and then to forget them as soon as I've delivered the message. It takes a certain kind of mind to do that. I was recruited right out of high school. There wasn't really anything special about me except that memory thing, and a few quirks of my personality I guess--I've always been good at keeping a secret, though how they found that out I have no idea--it certainly wasn't my grades. My guess is that at least one of those standardized tests I took during middle school was put out there by SHIELD. I remember which test I suspect it was, too, but I won't tell you. That's why I'm good at my job.

I forgot the message as soon as I told it, of course. All I can say is that I delivered it to Fifteen-Oh-Seven while he was working in lab BB17, a place I had never been before and had only heard shady stories about. It was a large-ish room, green, filled with computers and medical equipment and other things I can remember but can't identify. I now know what a few of them are, but then I didn't, and I recall wondering just why this particular room was so special, so secret.

That's when _he_ walked in. The man with the metal arm.

You know the phrase "tall, dark, and handsome"? Take that image and twist it, so that "dark" becomes the predominant part, the defining part, and not of skin or hair, more like a clinging shadow that never left him; and then you'd know him anywhere even without the arm. Though the "handsome" part was nothing to sneer at. Usually, when I'm working, I think of myself as a tool, a widget. The moment he walked into the room, I was very aware of the fact that I was a woman, and more than that, the only woman in the room. I did my best to shake it off and be professional, but something about him unnerved me. He gave me a quick look, head to foot, evaluating me not sexually but professionally, and I instantly knew he was a killer. His eyes were utterly, completely cold.

Then something awoke in them, deep, way back behind the chill. Something like recognition.

He said in a voice that was gentle and hesitant and nothing at all like what I would have expected him to sound like, "He never got to dance with you, did he?" His voice revealed what his eyes didn't: he was still a young man. And he smiled, but it was the saddest smile I've ever seen.

Everything in the room stopped, and everybody turned to look at him.

My inner alarms began ringing like crazy, and I glanced around the room, looking for some kind of help. I had absolutely no idea what to do or how to respond; everything about the man would have ordinarily had me backing up to the wall and trying to be invisible, but there was no chance of that now. Fifteen-Oh-Seven stared at him, and then stared at me. And then everybody was staring at me, which was a bad thing; I was supposed to be unobtrusive, unremarkable. I was supposed to be an organic recording device. I wasn't supposed to be... whatever it was the dark man thought I was. Someone to be danced with. I'd never danced in my life. Some crazy part of me wanted to say that out loud, to protest quickly that I wasn't who he thought I was, but I knew that talking would only make things worse, so I stood there and waited for someone above my pay grade to give me some kind of an order.

I didn't have to wait long. Fifteen-Oh-Seven abruptly said, "That'll do, Jessie, thank you."

I practically sprinted from the room. The dark man's eyes followed me until I was out the door. It took me ten minutes to stop shaking inside.

Three days later, I was called to Pierce's office again. This time, instead of doing his usual pacing-and-pontificating bit, he actually looked at me. After a moment, he smiled. "I see."

I squirmed on the inside. We're not supposed to ask questions, so I had no way to respond to what he had said, and that always leaves me feeling uncomfortable. I stood still and kept my eyes calm.

He got up from the desk. "Jessie, I'm assigning you to a different outfit. I want you to go back down to BB17 and report to Thirty-One-Six and tell them you're the new PWT. And you have a new designation: your name from now on is Nine-Twelve."

A number instead of a name. I blinked. I had just been bumped up three levels of seniority.

He nodded. "That's right, this is a big promotion." He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've done an excellent job as an EID, and I expect further excellence from you in the future. Report to your new station immediately. That will be all."

I walked out of the room feeling as though I'd been clubbed in the head with a rubber bat. My ears were ringing and I was disoriented. I knew that the promotion had to be related to that strange moment I'd shared with the metal-armed man, but apparently that was all I was allowed to know until I went back down there into the lion's den. I can't say why I felt it was such a dangerous place. It was just a feeling I had. But the strange thing was, it wasn't the dark man I was afraid of. It was something else.


	2. Chapter 2

I straightened my shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed for the garage. BB17 was a little bit of a drive from the Triskelion. As I made my way through the garage level, I passed by Steve Rogers' bike. I skirted it nervously. I'd never met Captain America (he didn't deal in secret messages, and that alone was enough to make me uncomfortable--how can a person be completely open all the time?). He was supposed to be a good person but a little morose, and a dangerous enemy. The kind of man whose bike you don't want to accidentally brush past and knock over.

I drove over to the Thycke Building (no point in hiding it; everybody will soon know what happened there) and went inside, heading for BB17 in the bowels of the structure.

I had to steel myself to walk through the barred gates, but when I got inside, the dark man was nowhere to be seen. I didn't know who Thirty-One-Six was or how to recognize him, but a man came out of nowhere and seemed to recognize me. He greeted me and shook my hand. "Congratulations, Nine-Twelve. I hear that the Asset responded to you in an unusual way."

"Unusual, sir?"

His eyes narrowed. "This conversation isn't going to go very smoothly if you play dumb."

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"And don't call me sir. We're all friends here. In fact, just call me Thirty, everybody does."

"Okay, Thirty. Then... the Asset... that would be the man with the metal arm?"

"The very same. I hear he spoke to you. What did he say?"

I cleared my throat. "He said and I quote, 'He never got to dance with you, did he?'"

Thirty blinked a few times. "Well now. That's pretty vague, isn't it? But you'll have an opportunity to find out what he meant, I'm sure. The Asset has a very special mind, the product of some of the finest technology we have in Hydra. He's more than ninety years old, did you know that?"

"I didn't. I don't actually know anything about him, si... um... Thirty."

"Really, they didn't brief you?"

"I was given this assignment directly from Pierce," I said frankly. "He doesn't do briefing. At least not to someone at my level."

Thirty laughed as though I'd just said something hilarious. "No he doesn't, does he? Well, then, let's start at the beginning. What's your Hydra class?"

"I don't have one."

That surprised him. "And they sent you _here_? What were you before?"

"An EID." I was hoping that would be enough explanation. SHIELD has a special school for EID candidates, special protocols, special methods of training. I probably had a higher clearance rating than Thirty, and I had sworn vows and undergone rigorous psychological evaluation to ensure that I was the best keeper of secrets there was. Otherwise I probably wouldn't have known about Hydra at all.

"Ah, that explains it. How much do you know about Hydra?"

"Not much. I know they're a special and elite group within SHIELD, and I know I'm not supposed to talk about them to anybody who doesn't give the call sign."

"As to that, Hail Hydra!"

"Hail Hydra, sir."

"Stop that. And you know more than that, don't you? Surely an EID would have transferred all kinds of messages about Hydra."

"I don't remember my messages."

He squinted at me. "Are you serious?"

"Forgetting the messages I've delivered is one of the most important functions of my job, sir. Listen, I'm sorry, but I was _just_ promoted and I'm probably going to keep accidentally calling you 'sir' for a while, okay?"

"Fair enough," he said good-naturedly. "Just don't keep doing it forever. It makes you sound like an antique."

"Sure."

"So it looks like, among other things, I'll be giving you a basic grounding on Hydra ops, but for now, let's just say that Hydra is the hidden arm of SHIELD. We do what we don't want Big Brother to know about, capiche?"

"Got it." I wondered what in the hell he meant.

"But when you get right down to it, Hydra is the part of SHIELD that really does the moving and the shaking in the world. We make history, here. You have been drafted into the most important rank of operatives in SHIELD, make no mistake about that. Nothing happens in SHIELD that we don't know about. Nothing is done by SHIELD that we don't have a hand in."

"Okay."

"The Asset... now that's a little more complicated. Let's start out by saying that he's a very special soldier, genetically, chemically, mentally, and technologically modified to perform tasks that nobody else in Hydra can perform. If Hydra is the elite of SHIELD, he would be the elite of Hydra. Working with him is a great honor and privilege. And it sounds like he chose you himself, which is an even bigger honor."

"He... chose me?"

"Oh sure. He's done it before, though not for years. He'll pick out someone in Hydra and recognize them somehow; none of us know what the criteria really is, but that's because nobody really understands the level that his brain works at. And that person becomes the PWT."

"I'm glad you mentioned that," I said wearily. "What's a PWT? Pierce didn't tell me."

"Oh, it's an acronym for something or other, I forget exactly what, but what it _means_ is, you become a sort of companion to him. You become the first person he sees when he wakes up, and the last person he sees before we freeze him."

"... freeze him?"

"That's how he's ninety years old and still looks so young. He's spent most of that time in cryo-freeze. Cold storage, so to speak."

"Wow. Did he volunteer for this?" It sounded horrifying.

"Of course he did. He was a war hero back in WWII, you know. And here we are." We had arrived at a large metal tank with a small pane of glass in the side. Thirty indicated the glass. "Take a look."

I peered inside.

I immediately recognized the face, and if I hadn't, I would have recognized the metal arm. He was frozen; his skin was blue-white and there were crystals of frost on his hair and eyelashes. If I'd been given any warning, I probably would have formed an expectation of him looking peaceful, as though asleep. He didn't look peaceful. He looked like someone who had died from a very painful disease, whose last moment had been agony. His face was tight and strained. There was a small, hard groove between his eyebrows; it made him look serious and concerned about something.

My heart thumped. This was not a good sign. Something about this man inspired an unusual amount of tension and discomfort in me.

Thirty said, "Take a good, long look. He's the culmination of decades of research, and he's performed hundreds of vital missions. This fine soldier has changed the course of history more times than any of us. He's our most prized resource. We have to take excellent care of him."

"But... where do I come in?" I said, dumbfounded by the level of trust being placed in me. "I don't have any specialized training for this... I mean, I'm just a messenger."

"Don't worry, you won't be asked to do anything technical or medical. All you have to do is be his friend."

"His... friend?"

"That's right. The PWT has a very specialized job, and it differs from person to person. The most recent PWT was more like a workout partner; he just made sure that the Asset kept in good shape and good health. But when the Asset chooses his own PWT, it's more like a friendship. And he picked you." Thirty frowned. "To be honest, he's been worrying us recently."

"Why?"

"Oh, he's still performing at top capacity, no worries there. But his appetite isn't what it should be, his reactions to the people around him are a little... erratic. He's not waking up from the freeze as quickly as he should. Stuff like that. You'll be given a full report, and you'll be expected to know it like the Bible. It's our hope that you can revive him a little."

I kept my face as blank as possible, and fortunately Thirty didn't pick up on what I was thinking: _How very quaint of them. How better to perk up a soldier then to give him a pretty girl for a friend?_ I knew I wasn't exactly supermodel material, but I had a look that a lot of men responded to, and the Asset had mentioned dancing. Was I to be his dancing partner? I decided that perhaps this needed to be put out into the open. "Begging your pardon, sir... has the PWT ever been a woman before?"

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "You're an experiment in more ways than one."

"What if he..." I stopped, not knowing quite how to phrase it.

"Your job is to keep him healthy, and interested in what's going on around him," Thirty said, firmly. "This is not a massage parlor, and you are not expected to be a happy ending. He doesn't like being touched very much anyway."

I felt somewhat relieved, but not completely. _What if he just doesn't like being touched by other men?_

But Thirty was already walking off, talking about the computer equipment. I took one last look at the Asset, and reluctantly followed him.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first week, I was basically paid to do nothing.

Sure, they gave me a full book of information to read on the Asset (Thirty hadn't been joking when he'd called it the Bible, it was an inch thick). I wasn't permitted to take it off the premises of BB17, but I had it read in two days and mostly memorized in three. The remaining four days I spent puttering around my apartment or wandering around town, trying to find something to do with myself. I'd always been a workaholic. It was suddenly backfiring on me.

I wonder why, in retrospect, that they didn't vault that information. But then again, I learned later that most of it was either lies or propaganda, and what was left was appallingly unspecific. And then there's the fact that vaulting is taken very seriously in SHIELD. Giving an EID too much data to vault can cause brain damage.

And the thing read like stereo instructions anyway; most people would have given up by page four. Most of what I read was a sort of maintenance guide to the Asset; pages of chemical formulae and medical procedures, most of which I wouldn't be expected to help with, but which it might do me good to know about. I learned about how he was frozen and unfrozen. I learned a good portion of his history, how he had fought during the war and distinguished himself, and how he was chosen from hundreds of volunteers to become the Asset.

None of the reading material dealt with Hydra, which surprised me as I was supposed to be learning about it. I actually looked Hydra up online, not expecting to find anything, but the only thing I found was something about a science division with Nazi Germany. SHIELD had a habit of acquiring enemy technology as well as enemy scientists, though, so it didn't surprise me that SHIELD might acquire an entire science division. Apparently Hydra weren't a huge fan of the Nazis; they went rogue and were later shut down by Captain America, which pretty much confirmed SHIELD's involvement.

It was impossible for me to read about the Asset and not think about Steve Rogers, who I knew a fair bit about. There were too many similarities between them; time spent frozen, for one. Fighting in WWII. Genetic and chemical body modification. Strangely enough, Dr. Erskine's methodology wasn't mentioned anywhere in the text. I would have thought it would have formed a grounding for what was done to the Asset, given that the Asset was modified years afterward, but that was never mentioned. In fact, Rogers wasn't mentioned in the research materials even once. I found that surprising. Wouldn't you make some mention of the only other super-soldier to ever be created? Even more intriguing: did they know about each other?

Probably not, given what the text had to say about the Asset's mind: he was apparently very singularly focused on his missions, and knew very little other than what was required to do his job. His mind was wiped before each mission. I suppose that might sound horrifying to a normal person, but to me it sounded surprisingly familiar; I had done something similar every time I'd delivered a message. I knew the sort of mindset it required.

Maybe he wouldn't be so hard to relate to.

But there were definitely traces of the person he had been before he became the Asset; that look in his eyes when he had looked at me... he had _recognized_ something in me. Someone he knew, before his mind had been changed so completely.

I wondered who it was. There was nothing mentioned in the text about a former wife or girlfriend. In fact, nothing was said about his private life before becoming the Asset. It didn't even say his name.

That made me sad, for some reason. I dunno, I just couldn't imagine going through life without your name. The name your mom had called you, the nickname your friends had made up for you, the middle name you probably hated, or maybe it was your first name you hated... it seemed very sad to have those things taken away. It was as though every vestige of self had been removed from him.

I was supposed to revere and admire him and be in awe of the process that had created him, and I suppose I was, but I couldn't help pitying him a little bit as well. How well prepared was he when he got into this? Thirty had said that he was showing signs of ill health; how much of that had to do with the natural strain of not having any family or friends or identity?

I mean, I might not have had much except for my career, but I did at least have a couple of friends and I called my brother now and then. And I had a name.

He did have one friend: me. I felt woefully inadequate to make up for all the deficiencies in his sort-of life.

At any rate, I didn't have much to do other than think about and ponder these things, when I finally got the call late one night, around 3am.

"Nine-Twelve, you're needed at BB17. Time to thaw him out."

"I'm on my way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I seem a little cavalier about Hydra in this fic, that's on purpose. There are two ideas at work, here. The first idea I'm playing with is the method of hiding something in plain sight. A lot of people know a little something about Hydra, but you don't learn how big it is or what they really do until you get so involved that you can't get back out. The second idea is that Jessie is treated VERY differently because she is an EID, which is an individual who almost physically cannot reveal classified information because of special programming. Anybody else would never have been permitted into BB17 to begin with unless they were already a ranking Hydra official.


	4. Chapter 4

Thirty was waiting for me at the gate. "There you are. If it's always going to take you this long to get here, I'll have them call you earlier."

"Sorry, sir..."

"Oh, don't start with that. How are you this evening?"

"A little nervous," I said honestly.

"Understandable, but there's nothing to be nervous about," he said. His own eyes were darting sharply around the room, as though he too were nervous. "Now we're going to need you over here." He guided me over to the side of the room that had the freezer on it, but the freezer door was open.

The Asset was laid out, nude, on a table. His body was unblemished except for the arm, sculpted as an ancient Greek statue, but his limbs were completely stiff and his skin was gray. He looked like a frozen corpse. I noticed that the skin around the seam of his metal arm was a little raw. Heat lamps were shining above him; I could feel the heat from ten paces away. The air smelled like formaldehyde and menthol.

Thirty sat me down right next to the table. I promptly began to sweat in the heat. Perfect.

"What do I do?"

"That'll be up to him," Thirty said, nodding at the Asset. "Just keep an eye on him. You've read the procedure?

"Yes sir."

"Then you know the basic routine. It'll take him about four hours to thaw and wake up."

"... four hours?"

Thirty nodded. "Hence waking you in the middle of the night. We need him up and running by 7. Like I said, it's been taking him a long time recently. In the future, we may only need you on the point of waking, but the handlers decided that you'd best be exposed to the entire process at least once."

"Oh."

My reading had somewhat prepared me. After a half an hour of steady heating, the body on the table began to look more freshly dead, at least, but his muscles still lay heavy and limp and his skin was still gray. The lamps were turned off (to my relief) and a group of technicians surrounded the table. I worried that I was in the way, but nobody said anything to me, they simply worked around me, busily planting long needles into the Asset's arms, legs, and torso until he began to look like a pincushion. Some of the needles were planted inches deep into him. The needles were attached to long spiraling cords that ran to a square metal box, which began to hum. I felt little waves of heat coming from the protruding bits of metal. They were heating him from the inside. I knew from the manual that he would heal quickly from the tiny wounds, but it was disconcerting nonetheless.

Over the next half hour, the Asset's skin slowly began to flush to an almost normal pallor as the technicians busily pulled out and replanted the needles, making sure that they missed nothing. He was pockmarked all over now. They flipped him over several times to get to his back. It was hard to conceive of the idea that they did this to him every single time.

At some point during these procedures, the expected tremors began. At first I couldn't see them, but I heard a technician curse as he tried to re-insert a needle that had jostled loose from his hand, and I noticed that the skin he was attempting to stab was twitching. I blinked. The Asset's skin was twitching all over, a little bit like that of a cat who doesn't want to be petted.

_Small wonder he doesn't like to be touched._ I watched with some interest as the tremors deepened. Eventually they were more spasms than trembling, he was jolting on the table and making small pained sounds; they removed all of the needles and backed away. Evidently I was to stand guard over him alone during the final part. I looked around the room; nobody was paying any attention to us except Thirty, and he was only glancing over now and then. He looked preoccupied with a readout on a monitor by the door.

Something about the way the Asset was moving tugged at my memory. I remembered a scene from my childhood; a group of kids from the neighborhood, daring each other to grab the bars of the summer-sun-heated black enameled gate on the playground. We had all placed our hands on the smooth bars. The heat had been extreme, starting out slowly and then beginning to burn hotter and hotter until one by one we were forced to let go. I had stayed on the longest. But while my hands had been clenched around that scalding bar of metal, I had noticed that I couldn't keep my arms quite still; they had twitched and spasmed as though my body were trying to force me to jerk away despite my mind's order to stay.

It wasn't described that way in the manual, but the Asset's body looked, all over, as though it were trying to get away from some unbearable kind of pain.

Once I realized that, sitting in that chair became torture. There's a reason why one of the most popular forms of torture is having a victim watch another victim; something about psychological transference I think. I was learning about it firsthand, now. I had never seen anybody die or even be seriously injured, and now I was forced to sit minute after minute and watch an utterly helpless man's body torture him. He was sweating now, his hands clenching, his jaw and neck tight. The small sounds he was making grew louder, and became more recognizably the sounds of someone suffering intense and inescapable agony.

I continued to sit, fidgeting on my chair. I know my discomfort (my horror, really) must have shown on my face, but nobody bothered to notice.

Minutes continued to pass, and I felt my chest get tighter and tighter. Surely nobody alive would have volunteered for something like this if he had known what the experience would be like. How could he stand to do it over and over and over again, for decades? Then I remembered the mind wiping procedures, and I realized that he couldn't remember the pain. That was a small relief, until I realized that it meant that every single time he was thawed out, it was an entirely new and torturous experience for him. I felt much worse.

Then his eyes opened, and that did not help things at all.

The moment they opened, two large tears rolled down his temples and into his sweat-soaked hair. Then he blinked slowly and painfully and squinted at the light. He swallowed, his chest catching. More tears rolled down. He continued to cry steadily for a few minutes, and then he looked directly at me. There was zero recognition in his gray-blue eyes.

Looking into them was way too intense; it stung like acid. I blinked back tears of my own and tried to look composed and capable. Was I supposed to say something? What on earth could you possibly say to a guy undergoing something like this? _It'll be okay._ Or maybe, _Is there anything I can do for you?_

I was on the verge of asking when I noticed something startling; the needle holes all over his body were closing. Expecting them to heal and actually seeing it happen were two different things. I stared at his skin, and then back into his eyes, which were shadowed with pain and some kind of dark emotion. It might have been rage, or fear. For some reason, I hoped it was rage. The idea that he was terrified was somehow terrifying in itself.

Had Hydra done this to anybody else?

I didn't want to think too hard about the answer to that question.


	5. Chapter 5

After what felt like ages, his lips moved.

I leaned forward intently. "I'm sorry, sir, did you try to say something?" Once again with the _sir_ ; I felt like a dork.

He moved his lips again. Two syllables, it looked like.

I tried my best to think like an expert. I remembered the manual. "Do you need water?"

His lips moved again; one syllable, it looked like a _please_.

There was something horrifying about the idea of someone being _polite_ under these circumstances. I blinked away more tears as I scanned the room; fortunately someone had prepared for this and there was a nearby table with bottles of water and cups and a few other supplies. I poured a little water and brought it to him. It was obvious he couldn't drink it himself, so I took a deep breath, and I slid my hand behind his head to lift his lips to the water. He clumsily drank a little, and then closed his eyes tightly. I lowered him back down and let him go. My hand tingled where I had touched him. I wiped my fingers on the leg of my pants; they left a dark streak of his sweat.

His twitches were changing slightly. It took me a minute to recognize the fact that now he was attempting to move voluntarily, though still amid terrible pain. Just when I thought I would go crazy, his movements deepened and smoothed out, and the agony on his face slowly began to ease. He placed his metal hand on his belly, and for a moment he looked like he was simply stretched out and relaxing. Then a fresh wave of pain creased his face. Then it passed. A few more waves of pain cycled through him like that. I waited it out.

His hands moved across the table back and forth, and then he hunched his shoulders and I could tell he was trying to push himself up. I helped him sit up and swing his legs over the edge of the table. If he didn't like being touched he didn't show it; mostly he just seemed curious. He looked at me again, this time nearly obscured by a curtain of damp hair that had fallen over his eyes. I said, "Do you need more water, sir?"

"Please." His voice was low and gruff, not at all like the gentle way he had spoken to me the other day. Then his eyes seemed to focus on me, and widened. "And, um. A towel." He hunched away from me slightly.

I blushed hard, feeling like an idiot. There was a towel on the table, which I handed to him; he covered his lap with it and seemed to relax a little. I got him some more water. "Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?"

"That's not my name," he said stiffly.

"No, sir, it's not. I don't know your name."

His forehead creased for a moment and he closed his eyes, and then opened them. "Neither do I," he said.

I paused, feeling briefly sick. The least they could have done was give him a code name. _Something_ to call his own. "Then it'll have to stay 'sir' for now. I guess you can call me Nine-Twelve."

"That's not your name, either."

"No sir, it's not." I felt utterly stupid, but something about my soft, calm answers seemed to interest him. He looked as though he were emerging from himself a little bit.

"What's your real name?" he asked me.

I paused, not knowing what to do. I realized that I had somehow begun to feel as though he were a prisoner here, when in reality, he probably outranked everybody in the room. Or did he? Was he a commander, or a tool? If the former, I needed to answer him truthfully. If the latter... did it matter? I decided to roll the dice. "My real name is Jessie, sir."

He nodded. "Have we met before?"

"Once, yes."

"I don't remember you. Sorry." He sounded genuinely sorry for it, but also distant, as though he didn't quite understand why he was saying it.

"That's okay. I think my job will be remembering things for you," I said impulsively.

He glared at me, but it didn't look like anger. More like alarm.

I looked around the room. Thirty was deep in conversation with a group of technicians, and everybody else appeared to have work to do. I wondered when somebody was going to finally start paying attention to us. Then, something came over me, I'm not sure what; but I suddenly decided that this assignment was going to have a lot more of my personal input than my assignments ever had before. He had chosen me, hadn't he? Even if he couldn't remember it now. There had to be a reason. I decided that I was going to do my damnedest to make it a good one.

I said, "Sir, what name would you like me to call you?"

He blinked. "You want me to... just pick a name?"

"Just between you and me. Nobody else has to know." Something told me he was as good at keeping secrets as I was.

He paused for a moment, and then nodded. "Just between you and me." His voice was smoothing out now, and I suspected his throat was opening up. It probably hurt to talk after being frozen. There was a far away look in his eyes for a moment, and then he breathed a word so softly that I couldn't hear it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Steve."

"That's the name you want?"

He nodded.

"Okay, Steve. I'll call you that from now on."

He looked at the table with the water and said, "I need the ointment over there."

Dammit, I was forgetting my training. I spun around to search the table for the tube of tacrolimus ointment. I gave it to him. He opened it up with hands that were barely shaking at all now, and grabbed a fat daub of it on his fingertips, which he then smeared around the skin of his shoulder.

"Would you like me to do the back of your shoulder?" I asked cautiously.

He glanced at me and silently handed me the tube, turning his torso to present the back of his shoulder in my direction.

The ointment smelled bitterly medicinal as I smeared it on him liberally, as I noticed he had done on the front. I closed it and put it away. He took a deep breath, and stretched his arms above his head. I looked away. Before, he'd been just a wracked body, a sick person. Now he was starting to look healthy, and I felt suddenly shy about looking at his body. Which was ridiculous. I'd seen a few naked men in my time, and they had never bothered me this way. Of course, usually when I was with a naked man I was naked _too_ , so maybe that was all.

He seemed to sense my discomfort. He looked at me again with that strange, animal curiosity, and my heart thumped painfully.

I trying to think of something else to say when Thirty came up to us, a broad smile on his face. "Well, now. Three and a half hours, that's an improvement! How's our soldier?"

Steve looked at him and said nothing. The air suddenly felt chilly.


	6. Chapter 6

I was dismissed before they briefed him on his next mission. Later I would learn what I had been spared, but at the time, all I knew were the words: "wiped and reprogrammed".

I went back to my apartment, sat down heavily on my couch, and told myself that I could handle this. It was just going to take a little toughening up.

The next few days provided ample opportunities for me to develop a thicker skin. It seemed that the Asset (still Steve, in my head) was at his most vulnerable when waking up from hibernation. His usual M.O. was more along the lines of "glower in solemn silence" while doing, well, anything. Eating: stoic glare and chewing. Exercising: stoic glare and curls. Resting: stoic glare at the ceiling. Studying (they kept him up to date on latest technology and politics and strategic theory, especially when he'd been out of it for months): stoic glare at a computer screen. He probably kept it up while he was on missions, too. I'm guessing that expression didn't even leave his face when he showered, which made me wonder whether he wore it when he jacked off, and that was something I didn't need to think about at all.

My job during this time? Convenient glare target. That was when he bothered to notice that I was there. And I quickly learned that I wasn't encouraged to socialize with the other agents in BB17. Only Thirty ever talked to me, and he was busy a lot.

I'm not really one to make idle chit-chat, so we spent a lot of time in silence. The first three days I spent feeling uncomfortable around him, but a person can get used to anything with enough exposure, and he was dressed around me now, and I was spending fourteen hours a day in BB17 and the surrounding rooms.

I knew from Thirty that this waking period was expected to last for a week and a half. I was sick of it by day three.

So the fourth day, I brought one of my favorite trashy detective novels with me, and when Steve emerged from the spartan cell where he slept nights when he was awake, I was sitting quietly in a chair next to his computer in BB17, reading. Nobody noticed me anyway, why not take advantage of it?

He stopped and stared at me. I kept reading.

He sat down next to me, still staring. I glanced at him to get a read on his facial expression; it was confused. He looked as though he were trying to figure something out. I decided to let him keep figuring, and went back to my book.

"Are we married?"

Well, that was unexpected. I put the book down and stared back at him. "What?"

There was actually a tiny quirk of a smile on his face, and deep inside his eyes there was that faint light of recognition again. "If a dame sits next to you and reads a book, you're either married or you're doing something wrong."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that; it sounded like a slightly chauvinistic pickup line. Did women not read in front of a man where he came from? Then I remembered where he came from: 1945. "Well, we're not married, but maybe I just like reading."

"You're bored."

I opened my mouth to disagree, realized I would be lying, and shut it.

"Am I boring?" He sounded as though he genuinely didn't know, and genuinely wanted to.

I hesitated. "A little."

"What would you be doing if you weren't here?"

That was a good question. "Working, probably."

Again I saw the tiny smile on one side of his mouth. "You're no one-gal party yourself, then."

I had to smile. "Not really. I guess we're both a little too devoted to our jobs."

"Is that why you're here?"

"No. I'm here because you recognized me."

He tilted his head. "Did I."

I nodded. "You said something about someone not getting to dance with me."

He seemed baffled. "Do you dance?"

"Not even slightly. Do you?"

"I think I did, once upon a time." He looked at the floor.

It was the longest conversation we'd had, and I didn't want it to end yet. "May I ask you something, Steve?"

He looked back up at me. "Who is Steve?"

I felt like an idiot. Of course his memory had been wiped and reprogrammed, he wouldn't remember our conversation on waking up. Well, I'd just have to keep reminding him. "That's the name you decided you wanted me to call you. Just between you and me."

"Oh. Steve. Okay."

"And my name is Jessie. You wanted to know the other day."

"Jessie. You wanted to ask me something?"

"When will you be performing your mission?" I had waited for someone to brief me, in vain. I knew that Steve had some kind of a job to do, or else he wouldn't be awake, and I had watched him studying something for hours on end so I had assumed he was researching that job. But I still didn't know exactly what kind of work it was.

"Six days from now."

"What can I do to help you prepare?"

His eyes turned cold again, and he said something in a language I didn't recognize; it was gutteral and made his voice deeper.

I said, "I don't understand."

He said, "You can't help me prepare. That's my job."

"Then what _can_ I help you do?"

"You can help me not think about it."

That surprised me a little. What exactly did he do, that he didn't want to think about? "I see." I searched for something to say. "I hope that doesn't mean dancing with you."

To my surprise, he actually smiled. He had a really nice smile, it changed his face completely. I decided I wanted to try to inspire it as much as possible.

"What's your book about?" he asked.

"Would you like me to read it to you? It's terrible, but it's fun."

He nodded, still smiling a little. I flipped back to the front page and began to read aloud.


	7. Chapter 7

After that, things went much more smoothly between Steve and me. We still didn't chat much, but our silences were more comfortable, and I began to learn that he actually did need me in several unexpected ways.

For one thing, he tended to forget simple things like eating and sleeping. I could have sworn he didn't actually enjoy either one. He didn't seem to enjoy exercise either. He kept up hygiene when he was reminded to, but it seemed an afterthought to him. The only thing he ever seemed to show any expressiveness or energy about was his mission. I began to see what Thirty meant, when he had said that Steve was deteriorating. Steve seemed to have similar symptoms to depression, though not at a full-blown critical level. My brother growing up had some similar issues, so it was familiar to me.

I reminded him to do things, and when I could, I tried to make them a little more appealing. For instance, after the first few days of formulated protein bars, I begged Thirty to get us some real food. Thirty nearly panicked at the idea, but the nutritionist okayed it. The next day they brought in a steak and a salad. Steve's eyes widened, and he looked at me. "You responsible for this?"

"Yep," I replied. "No offense, but the protein bars taste like shit." Did I mention I was eating the same food he was?

Steve stared at me as though I'd just said something shocking. I guessed it was the profanity. "Food doesn't... matter," he said.

"Well, this food does, because it's steak. Will you join me?" I sat down to eat.

He sat down, eyeing the steak as though it was about to bite him before he could bite it. He glanced up at me. "Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?"

"What, about the steak, or about the protein bars tasting like fried asshole?" I had decided not to play the role of the well-behaved lady on day 3. The sooner he learned that, the better.

He stared at me and I could swear he was trying not to smile.

I smiled for him. "Go on, eat up. We'll probably be back to the usual rations tomorrow."

But to my surprise, after that we were given normal dinners (though no sugar or other simple starches), and were only expected to eat the protein bars for breakfast and lunch.

I also did a few things to nicen up the cell he slept in. Either he was forced to live like a monk because of some decision from the higher-ups, or else nobody had devoted any thought to it. Either way, I didn't like his windowless, bare-cot existence. I brought in some posters, mostly of landscapes, and pasted them on the wall like fake windows. I bought a multi-colored rug for the floor and a lamp to brighten everything. And I brought in more of my trashy detective novels, because he seemed to really enjoy it when I read them to him.

The more I did this stuff without anybody seeming to notice, the freer I felt to continue.

One day, feeling mischievous, I brought him a calendar of old-fashioned forties-style pinup girls and put it on the wall. He walked into the room after his workout and noticed it immediately; it stopped him dead in his tracks. He blushed bright red. I did my best not to smile.

The next day, it was gone from the wall. I was bummed; I guessed that someone in BB17 had finally noticed and decided they didn't like the Asset having any kind of entertainment. Then I noticed something tucked beneath his pillow. It was the calendar, folded open at the month of November, which showed a classy-looking brunette in an only slightly tightened office clerk outfit; by far the most modestly dressed of all the months. I grinned, mentally approving his choice, and carefully put her back under his pillow.

In retrospect, she looked a little bit like me.

Then came the day of the mission. I walked into BB17 and found Steve dressed in the same all-black battle garb that I'd seen him in the first time I ever saw him. There was an array of knives and guns spread out on a table in front of him, and he was arming himself. He took one look at me with cold, dead eyes, and said, "Don't be here tonight when I get back."

It hurt a little. Not just him pushing me away, but the look in his eyes; it had been days since I had seen them look like that. I tried to detect what he was feeling, but his face was as blank as the cement bricks in the wall.

I nodded. "See you in the morning, then."

He didn't acknowledge it; he merely went back to his weaponry. I left, feeling like I'd been slapped.

_What did you expect? He has a job to do, just like you do._

I wondered whether I needed to be there the next day or not. After all, nothing much would be happening; he was going back into cryo-freeze, that was all.


	8. Chapter 8

At first I wasn't sure why they needed me to return to BB17 when they put Steve back into cryo-freeze. Other than a little medicinal prep and putting him into the metal box, the manual didn't have much to say about the procedure. But once again, I was to find out that the manual hadn't prepared me for reality.

For one thing, and I ought to have guessed it already, the mind wipes evidently didn't wipe his memories completely. Which made sense; he'd need to be able to keep some things. I thought it had to be pretty hard to perform a selective memory wipe. Hence him recognizing me or someone like me. And hence him not wanting to go back into the freezer.

He really, really didn't want to go back into that freezer.

It took me about thirty seconds to size up the situation when I entered the door of BB17. Most of the technicians were grouped in a cautious circle around the freezing chamber, of which the door lay open. The hard metal bed within it was waiting empty. It's soon-to-be occupant was standing five feet away, naked, arms lifted defensively, feet in fighting stance, eyes fierce. His metal hand was clenched into a fist that had a tiny trace of blood on it, and one of the technicians was prone on the floor.

"Hi," I said loudly.

Steve's eyes darted toward me, and he relaxed a tiny bit. "Hi."

"Nine-Twelve!" Thirty came to me and quickly led me toward the group. "Now I expect things will go much more smoothly. All we need is for you to help our Asset, er, go to sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Steve growled. Thirty visibly cringed.

"Why not?" I asked gently.

Steve shook his head, his eyes fearful, and I guessed that he didn't quite know the answer to that question. All he knew was that some animal instinct was telling him, _freezer = BAD_.

I looked around the room, and back at Thirty. "Would you give us a few minutes?"

Thirty nodded. "Certainly. Okay, everybody, back to your stations, let Nine-Twelve do her job. Someone help me with Seventeen over here." He and several techs picked up the man on the floor, who rose with a moan, to my relief. I didn't want to think about Steve killing friendlies. In retrospect, that's a little ironic.

I approached him. "Steve?" I said quietly.

His eyes focused on me, hard, as though he were trying to glare a hole in me. And here I thought we had gotten past the whole constant stoic glare thing. But the simple fact that he wasn't embarrassed to be naked in front of me spoke volumes: he was in an utter panic.

Psychology was not my strong suit, or at least I didn't think it was at the time. So once again I went with my intuition. I examined the freezer for a few minutes, and said, "I don't see what's wrong with it." And I stepped inside and lay back against the metal bed. There actually were quite a few things wrong with it; it was completely uncomfortable in a way that I didn't know that a simple inoffensive plank of metal could be, it was cold (I didn't want to think about how cold it was _going_ to be), the tilt was just enough to be dizzying and not enough to encourage repose, and it was tight enough that the idea of having the door closed made me want to hit someone myself. But I lay there calmly and gave Steve an encouraging smile. "See?"

His glare softened. "Jessie, get out of there."

I shook my head. "Hell no. I'm comfortable here. Close me up and crank up the cold. I want to live ninety years too."

Something like a smile was trying to emerge on his face. "No you don't."

"Why not?"

"It's not a good thing."

I sat forward. "Steve, it is a good thing if it keeps you alive long enough to perform your missions. Isn't that important? Not just to you and me, but to the world?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I completed my mission."

"There will be others."

"There will?"

I nodded. "You have to stay young and fit. This is the only way."

He struggled against that idea for a moment, but if I had learned one thing, it was that his devotion to the mission was the only thing that motivated him, and it motivated him now. I saw the moment when he gave in, and I pulled myself out of the... there was no better word for it than crypt.

He looked pale and sick, but determined. For a moment, I felt miserable about what I was doing. But it was my job. I held Steve's right hand as he climbed in. His skin felt cold already.

Once he was inside, I smiled at him. "Would you like me to read you a bedtime story?"

He glared at me. I was beginning to be able to distinguish different kinds of glares; this one was almost affectionate.

I said, "I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"

His eyes darted around the room one last time before he leaned back, as though he were trying one last desperate time to look for a way out. I felt miserable again, but tried to keep it from showing on my face. He looked at me with haunted eyes. "Stay here until I'm asleep?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Okay."

The door was incredibly heavy, but I didn't want anybody else to shut him in but me for some reason. I hefted it and closed it as gently as possible, and I turned around to beckon Thirty over.

Thirty hurried over, smiling. "Brilliant, well done. I'll just chill him out." He moved to a set of controls on the side of the tomb. (Why did I keep calling it names like that?)

I stayed at the front, looking into the window, keeping eye contact with Steve. I mouthed the words, _look at me._ He looked at me.

It took seconds to freeze him, but they were seconds of agony. I could tell by the look on his face... the look that his face froze into.

I went home that night feeling more miserable than ever.


	9. Chapter 9

They didn't wake him again for over two months. For the first two days, I was afraid that they'd put me on metaphorical ice as well, leaving me at home to gather dust until he was awake again, but fortunately I was still useful as an EID. There weren't so many EIDs that they were willing to waste me. So once again I began to run messages and private errands.

It was a surprising relief and a letdown at the same time. A relief because I went back to being anonymous and discreet and useful; it was so much more comfortable not having to figure out my own job. I once again knew my place and my expected behavior at all times. But it was also a letdown because I no longer had Steve to talk to. I realized, to my surprise, that I'd grown somewhat attached to him. I told myself to be careful with that. Workplace attachments were a bad idea, and then there was him: he was a whole other level of bad idea. A whole fantastic _realm_ of bad ideas.

After the first week, I was contacted by Thirty and told to report to BB17 ASAP. He sat down with me when I came in and said, "First of all, congratulations, we're all very pleased at the progress you've made with the Asset. He's in great physical and psychological shape. Even the little, um, incident at the freezer wasn't really all that bad."

"He's done worse?"

"Yes, but nothing you need to worry about. Obviously he responds well to you, so keep up the good work! Now I have to get down to business. You need to be introduced to more of Hydra's interior ops. I have some reading for you to do." He handed me a data pad. "That does not leave this room, of course. We can't have information getting out into unauthorized hands, can we?"

"Nope," I agreed, turning the tablet over in my hands. I didn't recognize the brand. "So you want me to come here to study?"

"At least three hours a day until you've got the material digested, and then I'll have more for you after a few administrative procedures. Now... I know you're an EID, so all I have to say to you is 'This is vaulted', am I correct?"

I felt my mental shields slamming into place as the EID took over; the pad in my hands suddenly took on new significance. I opened my vault to prepare it for new data. My back straightened and I nodded curtly. "Yes sir. Vaulted."

"But don't delete it, okay? You just keep all this stored away."

"Got it."

I studied the documents in that pad (and others) every day for three hours a day for weeks; my questions about Hydra were largely answered. I still have all of it committed to memory. I can't tell you any of it. I can't tell anybody any of it. That's caused a fair amount of frustration over the years, among quite a few people, but what can I say or do? I'm an EID. It's what they made me into. We can't reveal things in the vault. Not even under torture. The conditioning we go through is _very_ effective.

The days passed slowly. The information on Hydra was interesting, and some of it disturbed me, but mostly it was just classified military data of the sort I'd been dealing with for years. Military data is never nice stuff. The "administrative procedures" that Thirty had mentioned were actually more oaths (serious ones, almost on the level of EID oaths) and psychological tests, probably to determine whether I was appropriate high-level Hydra material.

I kept working. My pay grade had increased, so I started looking for a better apartment. I called my brother Joe and gave him the good news in as broad terms as possible.

"Congratulations! I always knew you'd make it to the big leagues, though, you were always so ambitious."

"Am I?"

"Are you kidding? Do you remember how you used to give us both summer reading assignments?"

I laughed. "I remember that you never completed yours."

"I am not ambitious. I just enjoy being alive. So anything else going on?"

I paused. "Nah, nothing worth mentioning."

"In other words, all classified."

"How do you always know when I'm hiding something?"

"I've known you for twenty-eight years, Jessie. Also, there's the fact that you pretty much hide everything about your job these days."

"Well, it's kinda necessary."

"And that's fine. If you're happy, I'm happy."

"Jesus, Joe, you sound like Mom."

"I know. I'm turning into her as I get older. I have sudden urges to hang lacy curtains in my kitchen."

"That's not Mom, Joe, that's your gay talking."

"My gay apparently has terrible taste."

"Judging by some of your boyfriends, yes. Yes, it does."

Joe was right. I had always been ambitious. Something about this promotion was different, though. It didn't carry the same satisfaction that career advancement always had, for me. Maybe it was the reading material... I'd spent years transporting military information, but I'd never had it weigh me down before, because I'd never _remembered_ any of it. Now I had to carry it around. It felt like a stone inside my brain. I was having some trouble sleeping.

Something didn't feel right.


	10. Chapter 10

There was one event that stuck in my mind during that time, though I didn't realize its significance immediately: it happened the first time I ever met Steve Rogers.

Well, "met" is too strong a word, really. I almost literally ran into him in the hallway as I turned a corner. He was walking too rapidly to avoid, but I recoiled before touching anything more than his sleeve.

I had seen photos of him before, and even if I hadn't, the uniform would have tipped me off. But there's a difference between seeing Captain America on the cover of Time Magazine and seeing Captain America in person. He didn't knock me down, but his presence very nearly did. He was human perfection personified, all the way from his perfect hair down to his perfect boots. His eyes were sky-blue and steely with hard virtue. His jaw was firmed with determination; whatever he was doing walking down this hallway, he was going to do it to the utmost of his considerable abilities. His face, well, you know his face as well as I do, the man is beautiful. I'm afraid I did a double-take. Who wouldn't?

What shocked me was that he did a double-take at me, too. It was a long, obvious one. He _stared_ at me in open surprise for a full second.

Then he quietly apologized, tipped his head at me in a way that was charmingly old-fashioned, and walked on.

I stood still for a few moments, collecting myself. Why had he stared at me? It hadn't been an appraising look. It wasn't disgust. It was pure surprise to find me there, as though he recognized me.

It had been mere weeks since my own Steve ("my own"? Jesus, I had to be careful) had looked at me with the same kind of recognition in the green light of BB17. I was more than a little unnerved by all these loftily-stationed strangers appearing to know who I was. There had to be some simple kind of explanation. Maybe I had a common face. Maybe I needed to change my hair. Maybe I was just some kind of a visual lightning bolt to ex-frozen guys named Steve.

Then again, my Steve probably wasn't actually named Steve. Or maybe he was. What would the odds be of two super-soldiers being created by the same organization, barely a few years from each other, both being named Steve?

No, I hadn't put it together at that point. I can be a little slow at times.

That incident was the single interesting point in an existence that had become strangely lackluster to me. I worked, I went home, I ate, I slept, I washed, I dressed, I worked again. The faces I saw from day to day were dim and blurry compared to the one face that stood out so firmly in my memory. Shaggy dark hair, tight mouth, gray-blue eyes that were haunted by more than an entire lifetime's worth of pain. That occasional sparkling smile, changing everything like a sunrise coming over a hill.

The days passed, and my house began to feel like a jail cell. I was incredibly restless, I wanted to do something, anything, as long as it differed from my ordinary. Work had always been so satisfying to me, and now it was just... bleh.

When they had frozen him, I had expected to spend my days in dread of the next time I'd have to endure watching him thaw out. But I found myself forgetting how awful it had been. All I could remember was that life had been interesting when I'd been with him.

When the call finally came, I shot over to BB17 so fast that Thirty admonished me for disobeying traffic laws before leading me over to the familiar table where the familiar figure lay, stiff and gray.

I took one look at his frozen, agonized face, and my heart gave an anguished thump and my stomach flopped over inside me.

I sat beside him and watched him thaw out; once the technicians were done with their cruel stabbing needles, we were ignored as we had been the first time. This time, knowing that nobody would see (or maybe it was just that nobody cared), I let the tears come as I watched his body torture him awake. This time, I covered his hips with a towel before he was aware of it, placing it gently and respectfully. This time, I gave him water before he asked for it. And this time, I held his right hand, which gripped mine so tightly near the end that I had bruises on my fingers for days afterward.

This time, when he opened his eyes, I quietly said, "Steve, it's me, Jessie. I'm here to help you."

He whispered, "Why are you crying?"

I figured honesty within reason was the best policy. "I don't like seeing you hurt."

He struggled to sit up, and I helped him. He cleared his throat roughly. "I'm fine, it doesn't hurt much." He was still shaking from the muscle spasms, and his first thought was to reassure _me_.

Three months to the day after first meeting him, I finally realized what was wrong with me, what it was about him that unnerved me and put me out of my element. You have to understand, I'd never actually been in love before. It wasn't like I had read about. It was a sick, terrifying feeling.

It was a feeling of, _I am in such deep shit that I will never be able to dig myself out of it again._


	11. Chapter 11

I think my first series of days spent with Steve was a test run of sorts. They waited until I helped freeze him, and then determined that I was sufficiently successful (or maybe just sufficiently attached, now that I think about it) and that I could be trusted with certain secrets without having to vault them.

For instance, this time I was told in nonspecific terms what his mission was. And no, I'm not going to tell you that. He has enough on his plate these days without me sharing a bunch of details of his sordid past missions with everybody I ever talk to. I can tell you that when they told me, I felt sick, but I wasn't terribly surprised either. I had already guessed the kinds of things that top secret super-soldiers did.

For another thing, they let me watch this time when they wiped and reprogrammed him.

I had no idea what I was in for. EID conditioning can be deeply unpleasant, but it's still nothing like a mind wipe; more like heavy-duty hypnosis. I know now in retrospect that the reason they used a different process for Steve was because they were reprogramming a completely unwilling participant. Willingness plays a huge part in conditioning.

Once again, some faint memory of the event kept him from wanting to do it, but he didn't resist when they put him into the chair and shoved the mouth guard between his teeth. I think I was the only person who sensed his reluctance. Maybe I was just the only person who cared. At any rate, he wasn't happy about being strapped in and mind raped.

That's what I call it now: mind rape. Whatever it was they did to him, it was a crime. A horrific, painful, intrusive violation in which things were torn out of and inserted into his mind... I knew that much from the manual, but the manual hadn't prepared me for the look in his eyes when the headpiece enclosed his face. It hadn't prepared me for the screams. It lasted for five minutes only, but in that five minutes he managed to wreck his voice to the point that his screams faded to ragged gasps. I remembered from last time that he hadn't spoken for two days after being wiped; now I knew why.

They didn't let me hold his hand. I didn't cry, either. I was in complete shock for the most part.

I think it was a mistake that they made, but they had no way of knowing it was a mistake; they waited until I was in love with him to show me the worst thing they ever did to him.

Now, I've been known to be a cold bitch at times in the past, and I've spent most of my life keeping people at arm's length, so it's not often that my objectivity comes into question in situations like this. But here, I had loyalties that had nothing to do with logic and reason. Strangely enough, I think that partiality protected me from one of the errors that logic can throw you into: the idea that the end always justifies the means. I knew that Steve's mission was important; not only important but essential. I knew that the mind wipes kept him free from outside influences and focused upon his work in a way that normal operatives could never hope to achieve. I knew that, just like an EID, his memory was adjusted at least partially for his own protection.

None of it mattered to me. All I could see was someone I cared about being tormented, and no reason on earth could make it right in my mind. I hated what was happening, I hated the people who were doing it to him. I realized in that moment that I hated Hydra with a dark and deathless anger. Everything I knew about them suddenly felt evil and wrong.

Here's where emotion trumps logic: I knew that no organization that consented to do something like this to people could possibly be good. There are always arguments for this kind of thing. Don't ever fall for them. There's a reason why we as humans love each other with totally irrational love. It fills in the gaps where logic fails to keep us human.

I had spent too much of my life trying not to be human. Here was where it got me.

During those five minutes, I also hated every PWT that Steve had ever had, including myself. The manual had told me what the acronym stood for: Psychological Wellness Technician. What a laugh. There was no kind of possible psychological wellness within the lifestyle he led. I knew now that every other PWT had sat in my chair and watched this happen to him, and had gone along with it, had even _helped_. I myself had helped. No wonder it had made me miserable. There was no longer any question: he didn't outrank anybody here, he was a prisoner in truth.

It was in those five minutes that I first began to form a plan to extricate him from this place.

Well, okay, no, "plan" is too strong a word. I formed a determination. The plan came later. Because I knew that by myself, I could never do it, and I also knew that there was only so much that Steve could do to help me, with his brain so riddled with the holes they made in it, riddled the way his body was when they pierced him with their long needles.

That comparison woke me to an idea that gave me hope: if his mind was able to heal the way his body did, then those holes would close up. No wonder they had trouble wiping his memory completely. The very technology they relied upon to keep him healthy was working against their efforts to injure his mind.

All I would have to do would be to keep him unfrozen and unwiped for a long enough period to heal up, and then he would be impossible to cage.

I still needed help, though. Near as I could tell, I was the only person in an organization of hundreds who gave a shit whether Steve lived or died apart from his usefulness. I knew to some extent why this was true; the face he presented to most people was as cold and alien as the surface of Pluto. He unknowingly assisted the majority in believing that he was nothing better than a tool for their use. Who could I possibly go to?

Who would care about something like this? Who cared about right and wrong more than efficacy and numbers? Who would (and could) champion the abused and imprisoned? Who would (and could) speak truth to power? Who would climb the highest mountain for the right cause?

And if you've got that damn USO song stuck in your head now, you'll know perfectly well who I thought of that might be able to do these things. The only problem was, I had no idea how to find him or what specifically to ask for. Who knows, maybe Captain America already knew all about it and was fine with it.

But I doubted that.

When they tilted the chair forward and released Steve from his shackles, his face was white. One of the attendants had a small plastic bowl; I wondered what for, until Steve leaned forward in the chair and vomited liquid and bile into it. When they helped him up, he was shaking feverishly. I immediately stepped forward, but he didn't look at me. The techs led him to his cell; I followed.


	12. Chapter 12

"You have a name, a secret name just between you and me. You don't remember, so it's my job to remember it for you. Your name is Steve. My name is Jessie."

I knew from the manual that anything said to him just after a memory wipe would be imprinted more clearly than most memories, just like a chalked sentence on a clean blackboard. They hadn't given him his mission yet. I was the first person to talk to him. Soon, Thirty came in. If he had any opinions about the fact that I was holding Steve's hand, he didn't speak them aloud, but he did tell me rather curtly to leave the room while he briefed the Asset on his new mission.

Deciding to do something and actually doing it are two very different things. I learned over the next few days just exactly how helpless I was to help Steve on my own.

For one thing, I was expected to be there with him while he prepped for the mission, to be his companion, and at fourteen hours a day, that left few useful hours to do anything else and those hours were at night. For another thing, I simply wasn't equipped for action. I had zero training and no experience at rescuing people. I worried that my nerve would fail at a key moment, and then I'd lose Steve forever to this hell, not to mention that I would probably be "disappeared" by the powers that be.

My idea of keeping him unwiped until his mind healed seemed completely unworkable.

I had no idea who to trust, except for perhaps Captain America, and he was a hazy notion at best, that would also have to wait until the next time Steve was frozen.

One thing I didn't anticipate, that I should have, was that Steve himself would resist me.

I sat with him one day as he was doing research, and hesitantly said, "How do you feel about your life?"

He stopped typing and looked at me with an expression that said I'd just said something that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. "My life?"

He had a point. What life, after all? "I mean... this life of sleeping and missions and nothing else. How do you feel about it?"

He tilted his head, as though trying to understand calculus or Greek. "Why should I feel any way about it?"

"You have no opinions?"

"It's not my job to have opinions."

I tried to think of some way into that psychological armor. "Do you ever want to escape?"

"Escape?"

"This." I indicated the cell. "Do you ever want to just go outside and start walking and do something else?"

Steve shut the laptop and turned toward me, his eyes colder than I had ever seen them. He leaned forward and looked me dead in the eye. "I was created to perform my mission. I do not fail. I do not quit. I do not do other things. I exist for the cause."

It felt like some kind of an automated defense mechanism. "What cause?" I asked.

"To bring order to humanity."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. I opened my mouth to try again, but he cut me off.

"I'm busy," he said. "Go away now."

I hesitated for a moment, and then I left the cell. What else could I do?

How do you rescue someone who doesn't want to be rescued?

I wondered what kind of a person he had been before Hydra had gotten hold of him. Somehow, I felt he was probably a good soldier, and probably a good person. Brave, determined, loyal... but not a commander. Not someone trained to think on his own. Someone trained to obey orders.

When I went back into the cell a few hours later to remind him to eat, he didn't mention the earlier conversation. He didn't seem to remember it at all.


	13. Chapter 13

The days passed, I racked my brain trying to think of something, anything I could do. Realizing that I was in love with Steve hadn't helped me at all; I needed a clear head, and I had anything but.

For one thing, my heart began to pound any time I got close to him. This was a big problem when I was helping him work out. Make that a _huge_ problem.

Have you ever noticed that when you love someone, you get intimately familiar with how they smell? I realized almost immediately that I had his scent committed to memory. It got stronger during his workouts, and it was an epic aphrodisiac as far as my body was concerned. When I spotted him during bench presses, I could feel between my legs what it would be like to straddle his hips while he was on that bench; I imagined what it would feel like to curl my fingers into fists in his hair and kiss the shit out of him. Just the thought would make me gasp for breath for an instant. I wanted to steal one of his shirts.

There was nothing romantic or delicate about these feelings. They were red-hot and fleshy and sweaty and real. I felt my love for him was real, but it wasn't lofty or idealized. I had genuine affection for him, I desperately wanted to save him from this place, and I _wanted_ him.

Touching him made me dizzy. Just brushing my fingertips against the muscles in his back I could feel how firm and hot they were, and my body turned into some weird snarling animal that I could barely control.

It hit me all at once, and hard. The funny thing is, I had been prepared my entire life to fend off the advances and libido of men, and for the most part dating had fulfilled those expectations--except that I had found out early on that fending men off wasn't quite as fun as letting them have me--now I was having to fend myself off someone else, and it required mental muscles that I'd never used before.

I could barely control my hands. I couldn't control my eyes at all. I began to notice things like the way his eyelashes looked against his cheek when he closed his eyes, and the way his jaw tightened when he swallowed. The curve of his lips did strange things to me. And don't get me started on his body below the neck.

I was having trouble eating and sleeping. I was a cliché from a pop song.

I still read to him in the evenings, selections from my pulp mysteries. I had noticed before that whenever we reached any racy parts, he blushed and even sometimes cleared his throat and asked me to skip to the next page. Now, I blushed before he did and skipped them before he asked me to.

At the same time as all of these other feelings I had a powerful sense of protectiveness over him. I think that, more than the threat of getting caught, more than the inappropriateness, more than the lack of professionalism, more than anything else, kept me from molesting him. I knew somehow that while I wasn't equipped to deal with it, it might very well destroy him. He was so strangely fragile in so many ways, completely invulnerable in others. Both of those things made him untouchable.

So I fought with myself constantly.

I managed to keep doing my job well enough, and fortunately Steve was too focused on his missions to notice anything as insignificant as a smitten assistant. I somehow managed to keep my wreck of a self hidden from Thirty, and I'm not sure how I pulled that off.

Steve performed two missions successfully (but then, I had already learned that he never failed). We put him back into the freezer, and I was actually relieved. I was relatively free again. I could seek help, now.

Maybe.


	14. Chapter 14

One does not simply approach Steve Rogers on his coffee break and ask him to rescue someone.

Even if I did know where he drank his coffee, which I didn't. I didn't know where his office was, either. I don't actually think he had one. He's not exactly the administrative type.

Wandering the hallways hoping to run into him wasn't the best of plans, likewise asking people where to find him. Though I did have a better excuse than most; I could always pretend that I had a message for him. I had an EID badge. It would probably work. But then again, if I had an official message for him, the person sending the message would doubtless have given me a location where to find him. Everybody would know that, wouldn't they?

I have my talents, but there are a few things I'm simply not that great at. I'm not suave, for one thing. I was never really able to manipulate people into doing or believing what I want them to. I'm excellent at keeping secrets, but I'm not really a good liar. And I'm not incredibly creative, either. Every time I tried to think of some kind of a cunning plan to release Steve, I came up absolutely dry or else I came up with something that would require someone other than myself to pull it off. Even the simple plan of finding Steve Rogers and asking him for help required more skill than I really had.

I was stewing over these things at home one night when my brother called.

"Hi Joe."

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"How can you always tell when something is wrong?"

"Jessie, what's wrong? Talk to me."

I laughed miserably. What on earth could I say? "I'm just having a rough time at work."

"That's not like you, usually it's a guy problem."

"I haven't dated in three years, Joe."

"Usually that's the problem. What's going on at work?"

"I can't really talk about it."

"Oh god. Oh no."

"What oh god oh no?"

"Jessie, do you have a crush on someone at work?"

I paused in utter shock. Too long, as it turned out.

"You DO! Oh, this is terrible!" he said gleefully.

"You don't have to sound so happy about it," I protested.

"Do I sound happy? I'm sorry. I'm just... it's just... oh-em-gee the Ice Queen falleth!"

"I'm not the Ice Queen!"

"Oh you so are. But not anymore. Who is he? I must know more, and don't tell me it's classified."

"It's classified."

"What does he look like? That can't possibly be classified."

I paused helplessly, but there was something about having someone know about it that was a relief. Maybe talking about it would help make it go away? "He has dark hair and blue eyes."

"What's his name?"

_Your name is just between you and me._ "I'm not going to tell you that."

He sighed. "Fine. Does he like you back?"

"No," I said. It hurt to say it out loud. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't."

"Pretty sure means that he might."

"Is that what that means."

"Trust your older brother, Jessie. He knows the ways of the human heart."

"Oh, you know diddly shit about the human heart."

"Fine, I know about the ways of the human penis, and as long as he has one and isn't gay, I'm positive he likes you back."

It was a stupid assurance, but it was enough to make a tiny, idiotic hope bloom in my chest. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Um, Jessie, I know you don't believe this, but you are a stunning woman. Half the guys in our high school wanted you. You just didn't notice them because you always had your head buried in a book."

I didn't feel comfortable with that line of thought. "Well, this one's a little different."

"It's not Captain America, is it?"

I paused, once again, too long.

"OH MY GOD."

"What? No! No it's not him, I said dark hair, okay?"

"... that's right, you did. My bad. Kind of a shame, though, you'd totally be Captain America's type. You look just like his old girlfriend, did anybody ever tell you that?"

I blinked a few times. "I... what?" I suddenly realized why Steve Rogers had done a double-take at me in the hallway.

"Well, I mean, she was rumored to be his girlfriend, but then he got frozen. Peggy Carter."

"She's in her nineties, Joe."

Joe sighed patiently. "Sis, go to the Smithsonian and check out the Captain America exhibit. There's a video of her when she was young. You'll see."

"You've been to the Captain America exhibit?"

"Unlike you, I have no problem admitting to having a crush."


	15. Chapter 15

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

I staggered over to a bench and sat down. "Fine, I'm fine. Just got dizzy for a second. I'm, um..." I desperately cast around for an easy explanation for my sudden indisposition. "I'm pregnant?"

The guard, an elderly man with a pleasantly vapid expression, said, "Can I get you some water?"

"Sure." _Anything to make you go away._ He left, and I struggled to control my breathing, my thoughts, and my heartbeat.

 _James Buchanan Barnes._ That was his name. They were _best friends_.

The sky was a brilliant autumn blue, lit by a white sun that turned the red brick of the Smithsonian pink. I put my head into my hands, not sure whether I was going to cry or burst into hysterical laughter.

The exhibit on Peggy Carter had been a shock, but I'd been prepared for that. Aside from the bright red lipstick and the shellacked hair, I could be her twin. What I hadn't been prepared for was the little sidebar on Bucky Barnes. What I hadn't been prepared for was to look at that face, and know it as intimately as my own.

He had told me to call him Steve.

Steve was the first name that he thought of.

I couldn't get my thoughts to stop racing, so I just focused on breathing. In, out. In, out. They were best friends. In, out. Steve Rogers had to know about where Bucky was. In, out. He had to. It was impossible that he didn't. In, out. What did it mean that I was the PWT? That Bucky had friends _assigned_ to him? In, out. Why wasn't Steve Rogers in there every chance he could get? In, out. Did he avoid Bucky because of the memory wipe? Was it too painful? In, out.

I was starting to calm down.

Captain America would never abandon his friend just because his friend didn't remember him. I felt that instinctively. Captain America didn't believe his friend was alive.

Just like the museum stated: Bucky had given his life for his country.

They didn't know about each other. They didn't know about each other at all.

The guard came back with the water, and I was able to give him a half-smile and reassure him enough to get rid of him.

Any day now, the call would come, and I would be asked to go back to BB17 and watch them torture... Bucky. His name was Bucky. I had to get it straight in my head.

My thoughts kept repeating: He had asked me to call him Steve. Steve was the first name he thought of.

If anybody could get through to him, it would be Steve Rogers, who he thought of without even knowing who he was thinking of.

 _"He never did get to dance with you, did he?"_ Bucky had been talking about Steve and Peggy.

I thought about what I'd heard in the hallways about Steve Rogers. Good, kind, polite but remote, didn't get too close to anybody, could be grumpy at times. Well, no fucking wonder. He lost everything.

Just like Bucky.

I knew now that all I had to do was tell Captain America that Bucky was alive and in bondage, and that everything would be alright. Except...

Except it wouldn't. Captain America was good, but he didn't have a history of subtlety. I thought about the wreck of New York City after Loki visited. Was Steve Rogers capable of discretion? Would he approach the situation calmly? Something told me he probably wouldn't. He was supposed to be incredibly intelligent. Would he still be intelligent when he learned that his best friend since childhood was still alive and being tortured and sent on missions by the people he considered his worst enemy?

Why would he even _believe_ me? I couldn't really tell him anything about Hydra except their name.

Why would _anybody_ believe me?

And if he did, charging into BB17 like a battering ram would likely get Bucky killed if he were frozen; all they'd have to do would be to cut the power. We couldn't wake him safely without the right equipment and skills; the manual was too vague on certain things. It didn't occur to me at the time that Steve had been unfrozen by SHIELD as well, that they might have more experience than I gave them credit for; but Steve and Bucky were not the same creation. It was possible the processes were entirely different.

If Bucky was awake, now...

It occurred to me that Bucky might try to fight back, to protect Hydra. Wasn't that who he served, now?

I thought about the video of the two of them in the exhibit, smiling and laughing together. The idea of them fighting it out to the death was obscene. It was unbearable.

Sitting on that bench outside the Smithsonian, I felt more alone than I had ever felt in my life.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In CA:WS, Peggy Carter appears to be in the hospital/nursing home while Steve visits her. This story takes place some time in the year before that; she's still ambulatory and at home. It's not unusual for dementia and other mental disorders to increase quickly in the elderly once they are confined to bed for long periods of time. But at this point, she's still relatively sharp.

I went home that night, I got organized. I started (and this is always a bad idea, but it does help you think) writing things down. I had a list of things I was going to try to do to help Bucky.

I didn't get to try any of them, though. Suddenly everybody in SHIELD and Hydra both were very busy; we had a massive cleanup effort to organize after the Battle of Greenwich. Most of what happened there was classified, but it nonetheless generated a _ton_ of paperwork, and I nearly ran my legs off transporting messages. I got the impression that Hydra was thrown off-balance by what had happened in Greenwich. That made sense. As Bucky had said, Hydra was all about enforcing order upon humanity, and sources of chaos from outside humanity were unwelcome news. At any rate, Bucky wasn't unfrozen for weeks afterward and I was kept busy.

Sometimes spending time not thinking about a problem is just the ticket to coming up with the ideas you need.

I couldn't do what it would take to encounter Steve Rogers; I couldn't wander the halls hunting him, I couldn't look up any information on him other than what anybody would know, and I couldn't ask anybody about him without raising suspicion. So who _could_ I ask about, that wouldn't raise any suspicion at all? Someone linked to him. Someone both he and I could trust. None of the Avengers; someone I could conceivably approach unnoticed.

What about Peggy Carter?

I had delivered a message to her just once, seven years prior. She had retired twenty years prior to that, so of course I delivered the message to her home. I remembered her as a quiet, composed, steely old lady whose eyes were still sharp despite the cataracts; important enough to SHIELD that they still consulted her on matters of policy.

I assumed she was still alive. If she had died, there would have been a massive military ceremony for her. I would have remembered it.

And her house was not a classified location, so I remembered perfectly well where it was.

I decided to pay her a visit.

Then I spent several hours trying to come up with a conversational game plan. How would I open? Would I tell her immediately that I needed to get in touch with Steve Rogers, or try to think up some kind of a story? How do you circle around to, "I have the most desperate problem I've ever had in my life and you are the only person who can help me"?

I don't circle around to things very well.

So the next day when she opened the door of her lovely little house with the trellis in the front yard, I said, "Former Agent Carter, I have the most desperate problem I've ever had in my life, and you are the only person who can help me."

She looked less surprised than one would think. "Well, now, that sounds alarming," she said drily. "I don't suppose you're here to sell me life insurance?"

I shook my head. "No, Ma'am. Bucky Barnes is still alive, and I'm trying to save him."

_That_ startled her. Her eyes widened. "Now that is a name I haven't heard in decades."

I waited, feeling like I was perched on the edge of a knife blade.

She squinted at me, and apparently saw something that might be worth listening to. "Please come inside."

I stepped inside and saw that she was standing with a cane. Footsteps came from the overhead stairs, and a younger woman came into view. "Now, Peggy, couldn't you wait a minute? You know you're not supposed to get up that fast."

Peggy flapped one hand dismissively. "Jenny, I'm fine, I can still open a door."

"You know what the doctor said!" Jenny stopped and stared at me. "Who are you?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that. Peggy said sharply, "She's an agent with a message for me. Classified. Won't you be a dear and get us some tea?"

Jenny eyed me for a moment more, and then went off to the rear of the house, presumably heading for the kitchen. Peggy and I sat down in a study with cherrywood walls, and she gave me a business-like smile. "I don't believe you gave me your name."

"I'm Jessie Couring. My SHIELD designation is Nine-Twelve, and I'm an EID grade one."

"An EID with a numerical designation, now that's a new one."

"I was promoted. It... I... he recognized me. He thought I was you. Wait, that's not how I need to begin this..."

She put a slightly shaky hand on my own and said, "We have about ten minutes before Jenny finishes making the tea and begins to eavesdrop on us, so I suggest you tell me as simply and plainly as possible. How do you know that Barnes is alive?"

I took a deep breath. I told myself that this wasn't insubordination. Peggy was the former head of SHIELD, wasn't she? If anybody had a right to this information, surely it would be her?

But the fact that she didn't already know told me more about my situation than I'd known before. She didn't know, which meant that most of SHIELD probably didn't know. Probably only Hydra knew. Which meant it was Hydra-classified.

Every atom in myself shook at the idea of betraying my oaths and sharing information with someone outside the classification radius. SHIELD had chosen me precisely because I wouldn't do things like this, and they had taken that inclination and hardened it into steel. Only something as powerful as my desire to rescue Bucky could have brought me this far; now the cage bars were slamming down around me.

I opened my mouth and shut it again, fighting myself hard. I actually saw stars in the corner of my vision.

Peggy sat back, studying me. "I see. This is unauthorized and you can't say it aloud. What if I ask you yes or no questions, and you nod or shake your head?"

I nodded nervously.

"Are you positive that Bucky Barnes is alive?"

It was difficult, but I nodded.

"Is he in some sort of trouble?"

I nodded.

"Well, I've learned the hard way that nobody my age can get into that kind of trouble, so that means his aging process has been slowed down in some fashion, doesn't it?"

I nodded.

She leaned forward. "Cryo-freeze?"

I nodded.

"Does he have the ability to help himself?"

I shook my head.

"And you can't help him on your own."

I shook my head.

"What is it you want from me, then? It must be Steve. You want me to tell Steve Rogers."

I nodded eagerly.

She sat back. "It's not a bad plan on your part. I'm rarely watched these days. But I'm watched when he comes to see me, so you'd better not be here when that happens in about two hours."

I blinked. "He's coming in two hours?"

"It appears that today was your lucky day."

"I really needed some luck," I said faintly.

"But what exactly do I tell him? That a random young woman appeared on my doorstep and gave me some incredible news?"

"He'll believe you," I said impulsively. "I know he will. The only question is whether you believe me."

"I do, as it happens. I know the EID program. Your face is white; you wouldn't be having so much trouble telling me what you know if it weren't incredibly sensitive information. Which tells me even more. Someone at SHIELD knows that Bucky is alive, don't they?"

I thought about Alexander Pierce. I nodded.

"And they never told me." A hint of anger flashed in her eyes.

"There's more," I said.

"What more can you tell me?"

_Hydra is alive. HYDRA IS ALIVE._ "They... have... him."

" _They_. Someone unpleasant, I take it?"

I nodded painfully.

"Not one of Loki's minions?"

I shook my head.

"If he was frozen, perhaps it was an enemy from the past."

I kept very still.

She examined me. It felt like I was being dissected with a laser beam. "Hydra," she said, finally.

I didn't nod, I didn't shake my head. But I didn't have to. She nodded for me.

"Jessie, I suggest you leave now, but first, perhaps you could give me your contact information? I suspect there are people who will want to speak with you soon."


	17. Chapter 17

I spent the next six hours in torment.

What had I really done? How could I be sure that I could trust Peggy? Would she send agents to my door to arrest me? What about Steve Rogers? What would he do? Had I done the right thing? An EID doesn't betray secrets. I was attacked by guilt, but I wasn't sure whether I felt guiltier about being involved with Hydra or guiltier for betraying Hydra. And for some bizarre reason, I felt guilty for telling someone that Bucky was alive, as though it were his secret to keep and I had let him down. I had never done anything that might prepare me for this situation.

By the time there was a soft knock at my door, I was curled up in a little shaky heap on the sofa.

I hesitantly got up and went to the door. I looked through the peephole.

It was Steve Rogers, in street clothes.

Captain America was standing outside my door.

I spent a moment collecting myself, and then opened the door.

He blinked at me for a moment. "You. I remember you."

I wasn't sure what to say. Perhaps just acknowledge the obvious? "I've been told that I resemble her a lot."

He nodded. "You're the spitting image of her. Well, as she was. But I'm not here about that. I'm here about..."

"You're here about Bucky Barnes." The sentence came out almost with no struggle, but then, this was Captain America. There was no classification circle that excluded him, as far as I knew (which really wasn't that far as it turned out, but at the time the assumption helped greatly). Or maybe it was just that spilling information was getting easier the longer I did it. "Please, come in."

And then Captain America was standing in my living room awkwardly, and then Captain America sat down at my dining room table and I sat across from him, and then I told myself I really had to stop thinking phrases that started with, "And then Captain America..." because I was annoying myself. Somehow, being in my apartment normalized him a bit. He didn't seem seven feet tall and glowing with power anymore.

He also seemed far calmer than I would have anticipated. "Peggy said you're an EID and that it's difficult for you to discuss what's going on. I don't know much about that job. You're secret-keepers, right?"

I nodded in relief. "We're incredibly trusted. I'm... I'm... breaking trusts, here. Big time."

"Bucky Barnes." He swallowed, and I noticed that his eyes were red. Had he been crying? "He's alive. What can you tell me?"

"I can tell you that I need your help." I slid a piece of paper across the table toward him. On it, in shaky, weak handwriting, was the address to BB17.

He took the paper and read it. He glanced back up at me. "He's here?"

I nodded. Writing that address down had taken the better part of three hours and cost me a splitting headache that was still making me dizzy.

He fingered the paper, and then drummed his fingers against the table. "I'm guessing that it's not going to be as easy as just knocking down the door and going in and getting him, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Can you tell me why I should believe you? I've thought... I've hoped..." He shook his head and I saw a world of frustration behind his eyes.

I tried to think of some way to prove my story. Maybe if I went back to the beginning. "The first time he saw me, he said, 'He never got to dance with you, did he?'"

Steve's eyes widened. "Only Bucky and Peggy knew about that."

"He remembered it for a moment, but he doesn't know much else. They've taken most of his memories. And it's worse than that: he doesn't want to be rescued."

"Does he know I'm alive?"

"I'm not sure he knows who you are anymore."

"Your name is Jessie, right?"

I nodded.

"Jessie, can you tell me what happened to my friend? Please. I need to know."

I looked into his beautiful eyes and realized he was begging, and that was probably not something he did lightly. "I can tell you what I've been told, but it's not the truth." I gave him the propaganda story that I'd read in the manual, about Bucky the war hero volunteer. Steve was quiet when I finished, so I went on. I told him about my first encounter with Bucky, and about how I had become his PWT. I told him about the thawing process and the mind wipes. I told him about the missions. It felt like I was bleeding information, becoming weaker and sicker with every admission, but there was a feeling of relief as well. At some point, I realized that I was crying. I tried to tell him about Hydra, but all that I could wrench out of myself was the name, over and over again until he finally stopped me.

By the time I was done, I felt more exhausted than I had ever felt in my life. I was barely able to hold my head up.

Steve said, "Okay, I guess it's my turn now."

"To do what?" I said softly.

"To inform you. You need to know the truth about Hydra. I'll tell you everything I can remember, and a few things that Peggy and I have suspicions about."

He didn't speak long; I could tell that he wasn't the wordy type. But what he said was enough to give me a deeply sick feeling in the pit of my belly. I had been _helping_ these people. And when he told me about encountering Bucky in the Red Skull's fortress, pale and sick and faintly repeating his name, rank, and serial number... I put my head down on the table and said, "Stop. Please stop. I'm convinced; you can tell me more later."

"Sorry. You okay?"

"No better than I deserve to be. Never mind, it'll go away. Now what?"

"When will they unfreeze him next?"

"I don't know. I never know until I get the call to come down there."

"When that happens, call me." He handed me a small phone.

"Is this a burner?"

"Yes, just for you, just for a single use. And we won't be able to meet here again; it was risky, me coming here tonight."

"When I call you, what will you do?"

"What I always do," he said, and he smiled.

Which was pretty much exactly what I was afraid of. "We can't just charge in. You don't know what they made him into; he'll fight. He doesn't know you."

"He will." His eyes said that he could somehow convince Bucky by will alone. I wasn't so sure of that.

"There might be a way you can help me... help him," I said.

"What's that? I'll do anything."

"Give me a couple of days with him, Captain, before you try to rescue him. Let me try to talk to him first. And tell me about him."

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything that might help me wake him up."


	18. Chapter 18

I had been experiencing a lot of firsts in my life recently. First big promotion, first love, first betrayal. I was about to add to them:

For the first time, I called my brother and burst into tears for no reason I could tell him. He was so shocked that he almost came to visit me; I begged him not to and assured him that I was going to take some time off work and get myself straight.

And for the first time, I took a week off from work. Bucky was frozen, so it wasn't a problem.

I had actually never taken a vacation before.

This isn't all that unusual in SHIELD; we're a mini-nation of workaholics and we're occasionally tasked with things like, oh, say, saving the world, and that just doesn't allow for a reasonable work/life balance. But we were allotted plenty of time off, just like any other government agency, and I decided to take some.

I was a wreck. EID conditioning is serious shit, and I had been fighting with it. That had left me with a brain that felt like hammered squash and a constant headache. My infatuation with Bucky had caused me to lose ten pounds and countless hours of sleep; I had dark circles beneath my eyes. The stress of what was going on was giving me stomach cramps and horrific nightmares. If I kept going at my current pace, I was going to get sick.

With Bucky's future in the offing, I could not afford to get sick.

So I applied for time off, was given it with no questions asked, and went home and took a long look at myself in the mirror. And I said this to myself:

_You need to take care of yourself for a while. And then you need to toughen and smarten up fast, because Bucky and Steve need you to be in top fighting condition when the shit starts to hit the fan. After this week, there will be no more crying. No more lovesick yearning. No more falling apart. You will be what he needs you to be, and you will do what it takes to succeed in your mission just like he does._

I straightened my shoulders and felt a little bit better.

Then I went to bed and slept for seventeen hours, and got up and ate about 3000 calories. I spent the next week sleeping, eating, exercising, and trying my best to think clearly. One thought only, one focus only: _Get better. Recover. Get into top form. And figure this out._

It didn't occur to me at the time, but what I was doing was something along the lines of what Bucky did every time he was unfrozen: he spent several days getting himself in shape and prepared, and then went on his mission, and then went back to the freezer. Hydra was smart enough to put him on that kind of a schedule, and he was a super soldier. I was just, well, me. I needed prep time as badly as he did if not worse.

I carefully picked through the information in my mind, going through the pages of the manual, picking apart the Hydra interior ops information. Even if I couldn't tell anybody about it, I could act on it. And I went through every single moment I had spent with Bucky, deconstructing them and trying to figure out if there was any useful data there. I also thought about the things that Steve had told me about the two of them, and extracted what I could from that.

They clearly had an incredibly special relationship. It went almost deeper than family; they had been through things together that would give even the most disparate souls a feeling of camaraderie. And these were not two disparate souls. I could tell things by talking to Steve that I hadn't been able to see in him before: he was kind, funny, deeply affectionate. I had picked up on those things from Bucky as well, in the flash moments of humanity that showed through the cracks of his super soldier exterior. These two were incredibly compatible. I couldn't imagine the kind of closeness they had shared. It was love on a level I'd never felt.

I knew now that Steve would stop at nothing to save Bucky. I felt much the same way. Hopefully we two would be enough; I had stressed to Steve that we couldn't trust anybody else, without being able to tell him why.

But how to save Bucky?

I returned to my former conclusion: if Bucky could be kept away from the mind wiper long enough, his memory would heal and he would be impossible to cage. But that would never happen unless we rescued him first. How could we convince him to go along with a rescue?

My only weapon was my influence over him. He liked me. He listened to me.

Well, sometimes he did.

There was a strong possibility that, just like he recognized me, he would recognize Steve when he saw him. So the best thing I could do was to prepare him for that recognition. Prime his brain, so to speak.

By the time the week ended, I felt nearly capable of breaking a possibly reluctant super soldier out of one of the most secured areas of one of the most violent and ruthless organizations ever created.

I had to be out of my mind.


	19. Chapter 19

I waited for the phone call, but it didn't come. Two more weeks passed. I had gotten myself ready for action, and now I was getting increasingly nervous; I knew it could be months before the next call came, but something didn't feel right. I kept working. I kept my head down. I kept the burner phone close by, but not too close; I was worried that my nerve would break and I'd call Steve Rogers before it was time. Waiting was the worst.

When the call finally came, it didn't feel right either; it was in the middle of the afternoon.

I immediately called Steve. "They're waking him up."

"How long will it take?"

"Not more than three hours, but you need to give me some time to prepare before we try to get him out. Give me two days."

"Be careful, Jessie."

"Yes, sir." I didn't think my bad feeling was worth mentioning. I threw the phone into a trash can on a busy street corner on my way to BB17.

Thirty greeted me and seemed a little more preoccupied than usual. Then again, this was my third time, and the procedure was becoming routine. I found my own way over to Bucky's body, applying the right name to his face for the first time. It suited him, I thought. My heart only lurched a little bit at the sight of him. I was too nervous to feel overly smitten.

I watched over him as they thawed him out, and held his hand as he began to wake up. It took two and a half hours for him to sit up, a record I think. I didn't cry this time. I was too anxious.

"Jessie," he whispered after his first drink of water.

"I'm here." I was already busily dabbing ointment over his shoulder.

He squinted at me. "What's wrong?" His voice was still rough from the frost.

I thought about how to answer that simple question, and wondered how he had detected that something was wrong in the first place; it was strange how sometimes he didn't notice me at all, and other times seemed to read me like a book. But Thirty came over to us before I could come up with a reply. "Time to prep!"

"So soon?" I asked. Usually they gave him a few minutes at least.

"We're on a tight schedule."

_Then you should have woken him sooner,_ I thought angrily. But I let them take him. What else could I do? I followed them to the chair.

It was as horrible as it was the first time I'd seen it. I don't need to go into further detail than that. When it was over, we went into his cell and I sat beside him and leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Your name is Bucky Barnes. Steve Rogers is your friend. Remember that. Steve Rogers is good, and he is your friend. Now tell me your name."

He whispered in a broken voice, "Bucky... Barnes."

"That's right. Don't forget it, and don't tell anybody."

"What's your name?" he asked.

A voice interrupted, "That's enough, time for mission prep." Thirty came into the room and brusquely shooed me away. I left reluctantly, hoping that I'd have more time later. Something still felt off. As I walked out, Thirty called, "Hey, Nine-Twelve."

I realized I hated that name. "What's up?"

"Go on home. We won't need you for the rest of today."

I blinked. "Okay." I was going to lose an entire day? How would I get him ready to be rescued without being able to talk to him? There was no way to contact Steve Rogers now, what would he do? "When should I come back?"

"We'll call you."

I should have been warned. I should have known better. Frankly, it doesn't matter; any time you say "should" you're engaging in fantasy, and this is the real world. I wasn't warned, and I didn't know better, so I went home and waited.

I woke up in the middle of that night to find a gun pointed at me, inches from my face.


	20. Chapter 20

He would never have made the mistake of making a sound. What woke me up was the recognition of his smell.

Bucky Barnes was in my bedroom, dressed in his battle garb so that he was nothing more than a shadow in the darkness. He was sitting at ease on the edge of the bed, and he had a gun pointed in my face. There was something amazing about the idea that he had sat down to shoot me. It was almost like he'd stopped over to have a cup of coffee, and stayed to commit a casual murder.

I couldn't speak. My throat had locked up tight; I wasn't in the habit of staring down a weapon. But my mind was whirling. I wasn't ready to die yet.

I thought, _He's going to kill me anyway. How would I have chosen to die? Would I have made any decisions differently? No, I don't think so. I am what I am, and I chose to love him, and I chose to help him. I don't regret that, even if I die for it._

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes? It's not really like a series of images, there's not enough time for that when you're about to die. It's more like your brain takes the entirety of your memories and somehow condenses them down to a single, solid idea. And the idea that my brain gave me was, _Well, that sucked. I didn't really do anything that mattered._ My life, I could see now, had been a very lonely one. Very few people would notice that I was gone.

But I was resigned to the idea. On some level, if I was going to die, it seemed right that he was the one to kill me.

And then in my mind, I let go and died.

Something strange happened to me in that moment, that's never happened to me before or since. It was like my mind elevated to some kind of higher plane of being, some really mystical shit where everything was okay and I was absolutely calm. I was just positive that I was dead already, so I was free. I was no longer afraid. Nervous in a way, because I was worried that it was going to hurt, but not afraid.

And strangely enough, what I felt then was pity for him. I wished more than anything in the world that I could still somehow just get through to him.

When my body gave up fighting, my throat loosened and I could talk again.

I said, softly, "What's the last thing that you remember?"

He didn't answer, but I could feel him thinking. I imagined his forehead furrowing the way it did when he was confused about something.

I said, "They strapped you into a chair, and they stole things from your mind. It hurt. It hurt worse than anything you could possibly imagine. And then you heard my voice. What did I say to you?"

I waited for him to remember. I had time.

He finally said, "My... name... is Bucky Barnes. And Steve Rogers is my friend."

My heart swelled, and I felt a hot tear roll down the side of my face. "That's right. As long as you remember that, you'll be okay."

It might have been my imagination, but the barrel of the gun shook a tiny bit.

He said, "Tell me your name."

Something occurred to me that I had to tell him before he killed me. I suddenly felt grateful for the chance. "My name is Jessie, and I love you."

There was another long silence, and the gun barrel was definitely wavering a little now.

He said, "... Why?"

I knew in that moment that he was asking a question that almost every human being had asked from the beginning of time. And I knew that there was no answer, not one that would satisfy him. Nobody ever loved anybody else for _reasons_.

I said, "Because it's my job." And I wasn't thinking about my job as a SHIELD operative.

He said, "It's my job to kill you."

"I understand. I'm so sorry." Another tear rolled down my face. I didn't want to die thinking about how much I hated Hydra, so I focused on how much I loved Bucky instead. "I'm so sorry that they hurt you."

When he spoke again, his voice was trembling. "I have no choice."

"Just remember that Steve Rogers is your friend." I knew that Steve would rescue him. I had faith. I closed my eyes.

"I have no choice," he whispered.

I waited.

There was a balance tipping in my head, though I didn't realize it; it operated purely instinctively and was on a timer. And once that timer hit a certain point, the balance tipped, and I realized, _He's not going to kill me._

I opened my eyes and lifted one hand and gently pushed the gun to the side. He let me.

I sat up and faced him.

"Tell me your name again."

"Bucky Barnes," he said.

"Does Bucky Barnes kill innocent people?"

He struggled with the question, but finally said, "No. He doesn't." He placed the gun on the sheet.

I was still floating in a zone of pure peace and assurance; my adrenaline levels had to be off the charts. I'm not sure what I was thinking next. Maybe I just thought that I'd never have another chance like this.

So I reached out and touched his face, and then I leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn't exactly the kiss I'd fantasized about for so long; this was one of those sweet, pure kisses that only last a second and involve no tongue or promises of sex. But it was sufficient to confuse the hell out of him, judging by the look on his face.

I said, "We need to leave. Now."


	21. Chapter 21

I've spent a lot of time thinking about why Hydra sent him to kill me. It's not like I was a hard target, after all; I didn't have any protection, I didn't know how to fight, I barely knew how to hide. I'd been stupid enough to not realize that they'd probably had me under surveillance since I became the PWT. Anybody could have pulled that trigger.

Furthermore, they knew that Bucky and I had a rapport, and they had to know that the mind wipes weren't perfect. Why send _him_ of all people?

I think, in the end, it was their cause that defeated them. Hydra was all about bringing order to humanity. The Asset represented an example of that order. He was a pure weapon, created by them and utterly under their control, supposedly. Their absolute conviction that humanity could in fact be controlled forced them to believe that he was under more control than he was; to recognize their failure, they might have had to adjust their view of the world. Hydra wasn't capable of that. Their inflexibility had been their downfall during WWII, and it was their downfall this time as well.

But getting through to Bucky was only the first step in a very dangerous journey. Once I was dressed and we were out of the apartment, I had no clue where to go. Just away. _Away_ was all I could think of.

Fortunately, my allies were a lot smarter than I was. As we crept out of the front of the building, we were stopped by a tall figure in the darkness; Bucky immediately went into a defensive stance and I was afraid. Then he spoke and I knew immediately who it was.

He said, "Bucky... is that you?"

I said, "Steve, be careful. Bucky was sent here to kill me. Bucky, this is Steve Rogers. Remember what I told you about him."

Bucky relaxed marginally. "Steve Rogers is my friend."

"Right."

Steve paused uncertainly. "Yes... I am your friend. Do you remember me?"

"No." Bucky paused. "I think... wait."

"Bucky, you know me," Steve said in a soft voice.

"I... know you from somewhere."

Steve's tone changed from beseeching to brusque. "That'll have to do. We have to get you both out of here. I have a car waiting."

"Thank god," I said. "I had no idea where we were going to go. Were you watching me?"

Steve beckoned us to follow him. "I was, I've been following you since you called me. I knew when they sent you home early that something had to be wrong, so I was keeping an eye out just in case. But I didn't see Bucky go in." Steve glanced back. "You're very skilled."

"He never fails at a mission," I said quietly.

"Until now," Bucky said. I couldn't read the tone of his voice, but something about the idea of him acknowledging a mission failure sent a cold shiver down my spine. I had no idea what that might do to him, mentally.

"Are you going to keep trying to kill me?" I said softly.

He paused. "No. And I'm not going to kill him, either." He nodded at Steve.

Steve glanced back. "You were supposed to kill me too?"

Bucky nodded.

"Well, you're just having an unsuccessful day, aren't you? Get in." Steve opened the back of the car for us. He got into the driver's seat. The car took off like a silent bullet. "Keep an eye to the rear and let me know if you see anybody following us."

I looked out the rear windshield and tried to pretend that I was good at this.

Bucky sat silently next to me. I could hardly blame him, his mind had to be in turmoil right now. He had betrayed conditioning. I knew something about the kind of damage that could cause.


	22. Chapter 22

It was a long drive, and not a fun one. But I never saw anybody following us.

After the first hour or so, my adrenaline high crashed and I got the shakes and felt completely terrified, and my muscles ached all over. Bucky refused to say a single word the entire drive, and I didn't want to press him too hard. Steve asked me several times if Bucky was okay after Bucky stopped responding to him. All I could say, repeatedly, was, "I don't know." I could barely even make out his facial expression in the dark.

Once the sky began to lighten, I could see that Bucky looked... blank. Utterly, completely blank. I would have expected one of his signature glares, but his face and eyes were void of anything approaching emotion or thought.

I couldn't really see Steve's face, up in the front, and I didn't want to get into the passenger seat and leave Bucky unsupervised. I guessed that Steve was probably wrestling with his own demons at the moment. He'd found his best friend since childhood, still alive and still young, years after believing that he'd lost him. And said friend didn't know him. There had been no joyful reunion, no catharsis of physical contact or words or tears or laughter. Only this silence that said more clearly than any sign, _Bucky is not okay_. The only sign Steve gave of being upset was a slight tension in his shoulders. I gave him credit for more composure than I had; I was nearly passed out like a cooked noodle in the back seat.

After an eternity, Steve finally said, "Here we are."

I shakily emerged from the car, wondering whether we'd need to carry Bucky. We appeared to be deep within the woods, parked beside a little log cabin. "Where is here?" I asked.

"The Retreat," Steve said, in a tone of voice that said he thought I would know what he meant.

"What's that?"

"Just a safe place to lay low for a while. There are supplies enough to keep us fit for months. Bucky..."

Bucky had gotten out of the car by himself, and was looking around. His eyes were still blank.

"Bucky, we need to get inside. You'll be safe here." Steve's voice was heavy, as though there were a million things he wanted to say and couldn't.

Bucky didn't speak, but he followed us inside.

As soon as we were all in, Steve scared the shit out of me by asking, "Do you have any family?"

"I have a brother. My parents are both dead."

"Call him. The line here is secure. Tell him to take a vacation somewhere very far away... Hydra will try to use him against you if they can."

I called Joe immediately.

"Hey."

"Hi, what's wrong?"

"You always know."

"We've been over this. Hello, twenty-eight years."

I sighed. "Joe, I don't know how to explain this, so I'm not going to bother. I'm in trouble. I'm safe right now, but I'm scared that you might be in danger too, so I want you to go away for a while. Go somewhere where they can't find you."

He paused, digesting this. I could hardly blame him. He said, "Who is they?"

"All you need to know is that they are not very nice people."

"Jessie, what happened? Who did you piss off?"

"I can't tell you that. Just, please go. Please tell me you will. As soon as possible."

"Jessie, I have a job, I have people who expect things of me, I can't just drop everything and leave."

"Believe it or not, Joe, yes you can. And you have to. Now."

"... are you alright?"

"I'm fine, but I won't be if something happens to you."

"Okay, um, okay. I can go--"

"Don't tell me where, just go there and stay there."

"But how will I get in touch with you again?"

 _That may never happen._ I looked at Steve. "You said this line is secure?"

"Perfectly."

"Can he call me here?"

"Sure, let me get you the number..."

I gave Joe the number. "Don't call me again until you're safe somewhere else. And dump your cell phone immediately."

"You are kidding me, right? Please say you're kidding me."

"Just... please don't argue with me anymore, okay Joe? Okay? Just do this for me."

"... Okay, sis. Hey, will you explain this to me someday?"

"Probably not."

"That's typical."

"Joe..."

"Okay, okay, I'm GOING already, but I am going to call you the minute I get there, alright? I am not satisfied with this clandestine bullshit."

"Fine, once you get there, call me."

"Whatever happened with that crush of yours?"

I was forced into a laugh. "Seriously, Joe?"

"No, really. Is he okay? Did he piss off the mean people too?"

I looked at Bucky, sitting in a corner, staring at nothing. "Sort of."

"That sucks."

"Yes. Yes, it does."

"You should probably play with his penis. I find that helps most guys in most situations."

"Is sex your defense mechanism or something?"

"Yes. You've put me on the defensive, just a little. And I'm guessing that means the answer is no."

"Goodbye, Joe." I hung up the phone and turned to Steve. "Are the conversations recorded on this line?"

"Yes, but the recordings aren't reviewed very often. Why are you hiding your face?"

"No reason. Nooooo reason at all."


	23. Chapter 23

The next few days were a kind of hell for all of us, I think.

We quickly realized that we couldn't get Bucky to speak again. He just sat down in a chair and stared at the wall with that awful blank expression. He stayed there all night, and we stayed up with him. By morning, Steve and I knew that he wasn't going to magically snap out of it any time soon.

The first thing we had to do was disarm him. That was tricky; we weren't sure whether we'd trigger a defensive response. We looked him over, not touching anything, and finally I looked at Steve and he looked at me, and he reached out and took one of Bucky's handguns from his belt. Bucky did nothing.

It took us several minutes to find all of the guns, knives, small grenades and other little nasty devices, and then later when we undressed him (Steve had brought some clothing with him and they were roughly the same size, so we had decided to get Bucky out of the black armored outfit) we found yet more hidden small knives. He had enough weapons to fight a battalion. Steve took them and put them somewhere, I don't know where.

Steve helped me wash and change Bucky; both of us were awkward at it, particularly with Bucky's metal arm. Fortunately I knew enough to know that it was waterproof, or we'd have been in a whole different world of hell. But we didn't have any of the tacrolimus ointment. I worried about that.

Bucky helped us a little, or we couldn't have managed. He stood when we tried to stand him up; he sat when we pushed him gently down. He didn't seem comatose or rebellious, just extremely preoccupied with something that Steve and I couldn't see or hear.

We fed him; he chewed and swallowed. We put him to bed at night, hoping he was sleeping, and put him into a chair in the morning. Occasionally he stood up and walked around a little, but there was no telling when or what inspired it.

Steve was very patient, but I could feel his frustration growing as the days passed. He clearly wanted to shake his friend and shout, "BE OKAY AGAIN!"

For me, it was as though I were trying to warm my hands at a fire that had gone out. Bucky was simply... not there. I felt cold all the time.

Aside from the small duties taking care of Bucky and ourselves, there wasn't anything to do. Steve was reluctant to contact anybody until Bucky was in good enough shape to defend himself if something went wrong. Steve and I talked, and I got to know him a little better, but we were both so focused on Bucky that it was hard to develop any real friendship.

Still, a quiet kind of camaraderie develops between you and another person when you go through something awful together. I grew to trust Steve, and I think he trusted me.


	24. Chapter 24

We had been there four days when Steve broached the topic he'd probably been considering since day one.

"There's a question I haven't asked, that I probably should have days ago. I made the assumption that you're just helping Bucky because you had a crisis of conscience. Is that why you're doing this?"

I turned off the stove and looked at Steve. "Why ask now?"

"Because I've seen how you look at him," he said gently.

I tried to hide my blush as I poured the soup into bowls. It was going to be a pain in the ass giving Bucky soup, but I was sick to death of travel rations. I brought the bowls to the table. "Eat up. We'll feed Bucky when we're done."

"Jessie. Was I wrong to ask?"

I sat down heavily and looked at my soup. "Not really. But I think you probably already know the answer."

"I guess I do." He picked up his spoon, but didn't eat. "How does he feel about you?"

"I think he trusts me, and nothing more than that," I said. The words hurt coming out. _Be an adult,_ I told myself sternly. _This is not a romance novel._

"He could do a lot worse," Steve said. I glanced at him, and there was a tiny twinkle in his eyes.

I laughed. "He could also do a lot better. I mean, he outranks me by about five levels."

"Rank isn't everything."

"So I've heard." I realized I hadn't smiled or laughed in days, and it felt good. "Eat the soup before it's cold. I have a question for you, too."

"Shoot." He started to eat.

"Did you really never get to dance with her?"

He shook his head. There was pain in his eyes, but it was old pain, the kind that has worn a groove in someone's heart until it almost feels comfortable there.

Still, that sucked. I said, "I'm sorry. Seems like you gave... just a little bit too much for your country."

"Like him," Steve nodded at Bucky.

"Yeah," I sighed.

"Do you think he'll ever come out of it?"

"How would I know?"

"You know him better as he is now than I do."

"Ah." I sipped my soup. "Do you remember me telling you about him the first time?"

"Sure. It was hard for you."

"Right. Do you know, I still have a headache from that?"

"But that's been weeks ago now."

"Yup. And I think I might always hurt a little bit from it. I was conditioned to keep those secrets, Captain."

"Call me Steve."

"Well, Steve, when I broke protocol, I... broke something inside myself, I think. I don't feel the same anymore."

"And you think it's like that for him."

"No, I think it's much, much worse for him than it was for me. They had seventy years to work on him." I gazed at Bucky for a moment, and felt a sudden surge of anger. "Bastards."

"They haven't invented a word bad enough for Hydra," Steve said darkly. He and I shared a sympathetic look with each other.

"How long did you fight them, during the war?"

"A very long time. And he fought them, too." Steve nodded at Bucky. "He was the best sniper I ever saw."

I realized something: I had been squandering my opportunity to learn more about Bucky. "Tell me more."

"About what? The war, or him?"

"Both. You weren't able to go into much detail the first time we talked about him."

Steve's eyes went distant for a moment, and then he began. "Well, it all started when I was about eight years old, at the playground near my house..."

I soon forgot my soup, listening to him. Steve told me about how they had become friends, how Steve gave Bucky his nickname; the fights Steve was constantly getting into that Bucky got him out of, the way Bucky was patient with Steve's health issues and slowness, the way Steve always helped Bucky with his homework. I tried not to laugh as Steve glossed over most of their pubescent years. Then he talked about Bucky enlisting in the war, and about his own transformation. "But you wanted to hear about Bucky, not me."

"No, go on, this is fascinating. I doubt very many people have gotten to hear the story from the source."

He nodded and went on. I quickly lost myself in the story of how he rescued Bucky from Hydra, how they hunted down Hydra outposts and destroyed them, one by one. How he lost Bucky on the train.

"And I thought... I thought I'd lost him forever. Until now." Steve looked at Bucky with tears in his eyes. "Who knows, maybe I lost him after all. Look at him."

I looked at Bucky and thought about him fighting in the war. On impulse, I said, "He's still in there."

"How do you know?"

"Look at his eyes," I said. "He's not comatose, he's distracted, and he's distracted because he's fighting a war that neither of us can see. He's been fighting it for years, but this is the first real chance he's had to try to win. So far it's been a losing battle. Not anymore. We turned it for him."

I looked back at Steve, who was gazing at his friend intently. He said, "I believe in you, buddy. You're going to win this. I just... I wish you would let us help."

Bucky stood up.

Steve and I stared at him as he walked to the stove, poured himself a bowl of soup, picked up a spoon, and came to the table and calmly began to eat without a word. Steve looked at me. I shrugged helplessly.

After that, he was able to eat and dress and bathe and perform all the functions of living by himself, and he seemed to hear us when we spoke to him, but he still wouldn't speak.


	25. Chapter 25

Joe called me the next day, which was a massive relief. "Why did it take you so long to call me?"

"Sorry, Sis, it takes a little bit of time to uproot an entire life. Plus I figured I'd give you and your situation some space. Christ, you're the one who made it sound so terrifying."

"Are you safe?"

"Yes. I'm here, where here is unspecific."

"Good. Stay there."

"How are you?"

"I'm okay."

"You sound remarkably okay for someone so worried about me," he said drily.

"Shut up, I _am_ worried about you. Well. I was. Not as much now."

"I had to take a leave of absence because of you."

"And I'm sure I'll be hearing about it for the next thirty years."

"Oh, at least. Will you tell me what's going on?"

"Probably not."

"Will you give me a synopsis? A summary? A hint?"

I sighed. "Honestly, I wish I could."

He said, more seriously, "Okay... I believe you. But how long am I supposed to be out here?"

"It could be a long time."

"Weeks?"

I looked at Bucky, sitting silently in the corner. "Months, maybe."

"I'll use up all my savings."

"I'll pay you back. And if you lose your job, you can always apply at SHIELD... I'll put in a good word for you." I decided not to mention the fact that it had been infiltrated by a rogue agency.

"So I can become a goon like you? No thanks. I'll work at a burger joint first."

"Am I that bad?"

"I'm in the middle of _nowhere_ for what could be _months_ with nothing to do. Yes, you're that bad."

"Work on your memoirs."

"Dear History, first of all, my sister sucks."

"I can just picture the film version now."

"Jessie... I keep asking how you are, and you keep saying you're fine, and I know that's not possible if you're in hiding in a rabbit hole somewhere. So how long do we keep up the bullshit?"

"What do you want from me, Joe?"

He sighed heavily. "I want to pretend to be your big brother for almost two seconds and _protect_ you. Or at least be with you. You always... just... everything you do has to be on your own."

He was right, but it wasn't a good time for him to be right or make me think too hard. He was still right, though. "What if I told you that I'm among friends?"

"What friends? You've never had friends."

"Well, my crush for one."

There was a pause. "No shit."

"And no stink. I have protectors here. Good ones. People I trust."

"You trust people now?"

"I'm starting to learn how. I had to."

His voice warmed. "Good for you."

I sighed. "Can we say your brotherly duty has been fulfilled enough for the next week or so? I need to go."

"Sure, sure. I love you, bratface."

"I love you back, dickwad."

When I got off the phone, Steve was sitting beside Bucky, talking to him quietly. We had already discussed the idea that telling Bucky about who he was before Hydra got him might help him out, so I assumed that was what Steve was doing. Bucky seemed to be listening intently. Steve kept talking to him for half an hour, and then stopped. He got on the phone and made a few calls.

I sat down beside Bucky about an hour later. "Did Steve talk your ear off?"

Bucky looked at me in a distractedly amiable manner.

I sat back. "Well, I have no memories to offer you, but I can at least give you a break from thinking. You used to like that, now and then. Are you up for it?"

Bucky kept looking at me attentively. I supposed that was all the answer I was going to get.

I said, "If I recall correctly, last time we were on page 57, and Harry Berkwist had just been murdered. 'They found his twisted body slowly bleeding out onto the pavement of 5th and Lexington. Detective Mallory examined the corpse carefully...'" I continued to recite the latest bad mystery from my reading sessions with Bucky.

Being an EID has its benefits. I didn't need the novels with me; I could have recited them in my sleep. It's marginally more difficult but nothing I can't handle.

As I recited, I could swear a tiny smile appeared on Bucky's face.

I didn't skip the racy parts this time. I figured if he wanted me to, he could go right ahead and say so. And when Hank Mallory began to unbutton Megan Teasedale's shirt, Bucky did blush slightly, but he didn't protest or take his eyes off me.

A few minutes later, I felt Steve approach me from behind. I turned to him. "Want to hear the story of how they solved the heinous crimes on Lexington Avenue?"

He squinted. "Maybe?"

"Have a seat."

Steve pulled up a chair and I continued to recite, this time to two riveted audience members. Bucky didn't respond too much other than that tiny smile on his face, but Steve frowned at the violent parts and smiled at the funny parts and generally made up for it. There weren't any racy parts for the next hour, so I didn't get a chance to see how he'd react to those.

After a while, my voice grew hoarse, and I threw up my hands at the end of a chapter. "That's all for today, gentlemen."

Steve clapped. "Were you making all that up?"

"Nah, I have it memorized."

He blinked. "A whole novel?"

"Sure. I have a whole bookshelf of them, too. I can keep you guys entertained for weeks." I glanced at Bucky. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, Steve." I immediately clapped a hand to my mouth.

Steve said, "Did you just call him Steve?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry, yes. I called him Steve while I was attending him in BB17."

"Why?"

"Because when I asked him to give me a name to call him, that was the only name he could think of."

Steve looked at me for a long moment, and then lowered his face into his hands, his shoulders hunching. The room suddenly went very quiet.

I scooted my chair close to his and put an arm around his shoulder. "He never forgot you. Not really. And he hasn't forgotten you now. He'll come around."

Steve leaned into my arm slightly. He didn't nod, or speak, or make a sound.

We sat like that for a long time.


	26. Chapter 26

We ended up staying at the Retreat for three months. By the end of it, Joe was trying his best to find out where I was so that he could come and strangle me.

We weren't just focused on Bucky during this time. I knew that Steve was quietly working remotely with Peggy to figure out just who could help us, and where we should go after this particular hideout had outlived its usefulness. But for now, Bucky needed to be left alone as much as possible to recover from what had been done to him, so here we stayed. Steve asked me once whether I wanted to leave and hide somewhere else. I think the vehemence of my refusal kept him from asking again afterward.

It would be an easy conjecture to make that during this incredibly intimate, emotional time, I was developing feelings for Steve as well as Bucky. And it's not entirely wrong.

The longer I spent around Steve, the more I grew to appreciate him. Not just his form and character, but also his dry wit, self-deprecation, and his obvious devotion to Bucky that showed just how big his heart was. I could always see his frustration that Bucky couldn't talk back to him, but he never let it overtake him. He never lost his patience.

And yes, Captain America is one hell of a hot item.

But while my feelings for him deepened, they stayed on the gentle side of affection and admiration. There was none of that dark lust that had gripped me before at times with Bucky. Nor did I have fantasies about him. I thought about kissing him once, and the thought I had was, _Gee, that would be nice._ That was all.

My reactions to Bucky during this time were muted as well, somewhere on the level of where they had been in the past when he'd been thawing out. He seemed unwell, and that meant my concern for him overrode everything else, even that passion I'd felt for him that I could still feel simmering just below the surface. My brother's words about him occasionally danced through my head like a Litany of Stupid, but I didn't even come close to acting on them.

What surprised me more than anything else was that I was falling in love with them.

Not with Steve, not with Bucky (or at least not more). With _them_. The two of them together.

Watching Steve talk to Bucky for hours made my heart melt into goo. The look in his eyes when he looked at Bucky made me tremble inside. The way Bucky occasionally responded with a smile or eye contact, and the way Steve lit up like a candle when it happened... the way Steve talked about Bucky, and the fact that deep inside Bucky's mind, he doubtlessly had never forgotten Steve... all of it pretty much wiped the floor with me.

I felt the way I'd felt when I first found out about them... these two were soulmates. There was something so special and precious about the two of them that it almost hurt to look at them together, and not just because they were both such beautiful men (though I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that played a part in it). They loved each other, deeply. It was painfully obvious. They were more than brothers.

These days it would be an easy thing to say that they were in love, but when you have two soldiers from the 1940s on your hands, you don't exactly rush to bring sex into it. Plus I didn't like making those kinds of assumptions without any verification.

Strangely enough, my brother would have been the first person to caution me against things like that. He had a great deal of respect for platonic male love. It was what kept his straight male friends from recoiling when he touched them. I think Joe loved most of his friends more than most of his boyfriends, and there's something beautiful about that as well.

Sex is all about hormones and instincts and often things you can't control. True love is made up of choices.

_"I don't have a choice."_

But then Bucky had chosen not to kill me. In retrospect, I had no business questioning the fact that he loved me. He had proven it when he had chosen not to shoot me. The only question I had was whether that love had any sex attached to it, and honestly, that question really didn't seem to matter during those first days in the woods.

He said his first words three weeks in. We were all cleaning up after dinner (Steve was a surprisingly good cook, which was good because my cooking abilities pretty much stopped at warming up soup), when Bucky said, "I wonder if they'll let me."

Steve and I both stopped and looked at each other, and then stared at Bucky. Steve said, "If they'll let you what?"

Bucky took a deep breath, still looking straight ahead, not at either of us, and said, "I wonder if they'll let me talk now." His voice broke on the last word, which dwindled to a whisper.

I swallowed around a lump in my throat.

Steve's voice shook. "You're talking right now, buddy. We can hear you."

"Who are they?" I said softly.

"My orders," Bucky whispered.

"What orders?" asked Steve.

Bucky looked up at Steve, and then at me. "My orders to kill both of you."

I covered my mouth with both hands.

Steve said, "Buck, are you trying to say that... all this time... you've been trying not to kill us?"

Bucky nodded. He put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his hands, staring at the table surface. Slowly, the table began to rattle; I realized he was trembling violently.

"Bucky," I said, moving forward at the same time as Steve. Steve grabbed Bucky's metal shoulder and I grabbed the other shoulder, and we tried to hold him still. Bucky suddenly reached for both of us and clung tight to our hands, and he started gasping for breath. It took me a minute to realize he was actually sobbing. By this time we were holding him and each other in a clumsy lump around his chair. I closed my eyes and I prayed for the first time in my life. I think we all did.

It took a long time, but once he was able to stop crying and breathe normally, Bucky looked at both of us and smiled that beautiful smile that I loved so much.

I finally got to see the catharsis in Steve's eyes as Bucky looked into them and said, "Pal, I was sure I'd never see you again."


	27. Chapter 27

After that, we couldn't shut him up even when we really wanted to.

A part of it was temporary. Bucky's mind had been healing for weeks, and his memories were patchy but there; he asked hundreds of questions to fill in the gaps, and asked constantly for verification on things he wasn't sure had really happened. He had also been storing up things to say, possibly for years, to whomever would listen. The Asset had been a silent man by design. Bucky was rebelling against that as much as he was against all the other orders Hydra had ever given him. He declared his independence in a flood of conversation.

But some of it was permanent. I quickly realized that the person Bucky had been before Hydra's manipulations was a very different person from the one I'd gotten to know during those quiet days in BB17.

Apparently, of the two of them, Steve was the quiet one. Bucky was the joker, the social butterfly, and while he kept it under wraps at first, I would eventually find out that he was a terrible flirt as well. I don't mean to make him sound silly; he wasn't. But compared to Steve, Bucky was the life of the party. It made sense that the two of them would attract each other. Bucky gave Steve a little more life and color, and Steve grounded Bucky. Their conversations seemed to have a natural flow to them, even when Bucky was a fountain of words, Steve somehow managed to ride the waves. The two of them harmonized perfectly.

My conversations with Bucky were another story.

Steve and I had gotten along very well because we were both quiet types. I'd had a similar rapport with the Asset because he was so silent. I could deal with silence easily. This new Bucky confounded me.

For one thing, he was the type of person whose humor wasn't readily apparent, so I wasn't often sure whether he was joking when he was talking, and that made me feel easily embarrassed and uncomfortable. For another thing, the man seemed to have a virulent case of ADHD. I later discovered that it was one of the temporary side effects of so long a silence, and that he was actually capable of listening and paying attention, but while it was going on, it nearly drove me crazy.

We ended up bickering most of the time, and when we weren't bickering, we were having downright verbal fights. He contradicted me constantly, which I thought was ridiculous because I had perfect recall of facts on my side. He seemed to enjoy making me angry. I had my share of the blame, though; I didn't find most of his humor funny, and I could tell that irritated him, and the more it irritated him, the more I criticized his jokes.

Also, he started calling me "Jess" instead of "Jessie", and that was strangely annoying.

I'm pretty sure we drove Steve to the ragged edge of insanity after the first week or so. He negotiated the peace when he could and told us both to shut up when he couldn't, and eventually started leaving the room every time Bucky and I launched into another argument.

But things didn't really come to any kind of resolution until one day when Bucky made a crack about my cooking.

Now, honestly, my cooking is completely laughable and highly appropriate a topic for mockery. And if Steve had made the joke, I probably would have laughed it off. But the fact that it was Bucky made for a different story.

I'd made... wait for it... tuna fish sandwiches. Like I said, I wasn't exactly a culinary wizard, but it was my turn.

The guys each took a bite and paused. Steve started to chew again, dutifully keeping his eyes forward. Bucky chewed a few times, coughed, chewed some more, and swallowed with obvious pain. He looked up at me. "You're a genius, Jess. I didn't think it was possible to ruin tuna."

My vision turned red and I stomped over to him. "So you're saying you could do better?"

He stood up and faced off with me, the tiniest bit of a smirk on his mouth. "No, I'm saying that a broken toaster could do better."

"A broken toaster could smash your face in better than I could, too, but I'll give it a try." I'm not exactly witty when I get angry.

"So far I count broken toaster 2, Jess 0. Your day's just getting worse and worse."

"My day was shot the second you opened your mouth, asshole."

"So was mine, I opened my mouth to eat that sandwich."

"Horse shit. The only reason you ever open _your_ mouth is to say something stupid that you think is funny!"

"It _was_ funny, until Miss Manners lost her temper!"

"You just insulted a meal someone else made for you and now you're talking about manners!?"

"All I did was make one joke, and now you're screaming in my face!"

"I AM NOT SCREAMING!"

Steve pounded his fist into the table so hard that it split into two pieces.

Bucky and I broke off our argument and stared at him.

Steve looked at Bucky, and then at me, not so much with rage as with a boundless annoyance. And he said, "Bucky, Jessie, if the two of you don't give up this stupid charade and kiss each other, I'm going to end up killing both of you."

Bucky and I were both struck completely dumb for a minute or more. We stared at Steve, then at each other, and we both backed up a step or two, realizing that we had been yelling at each other at a space of inches. My face was burning and so was his. I still felt angry, but now I was utterly confused as well.

And I realized that I _did_ want to kiss Bucky. I wanted to kiss him so badly that it was making my knees feel watery. I think I'd been wanting to kiss him for days, but I had assumed that he would have no interest, because, well, it just seemed obvious to me that he wouldn't. Why would he? I was so... ordinary. There was nothing at all special about me. He obviously thought I was an idiot, judging by how he spoke to me. We almost hated each other. Didn't we?

I looked at Bucky and sensed that he was having thoughts somewhat similar to my own, and then I felt really, really stupid.

Steve said, "I am going to leave this room, and the two of you are going to talk. Not yell, TALK. And you are going to make some progress, or so help me I'm locking the two of you in the bathroom until you work it out." He stomped out of the room.

I coughed. "Um."

Bucky's eyes were still wide. "I... don't think I've ever seen him that angry. Well. Maybe once before. But this was pretty angry."

He righted two of the chairs that had fallen around the broken table, and indicated one of them with a polite gesture. I sat down and tried to appear calm. He sat down next to me, but not too close.

I said, "I'm... sorry. Listen, I'm not sure what comes over me when we talk, but... something not good."

He grimaced. "I'm sorry too, and ditto. I just... I get a little crazy when you start..." he flapped one hand unspecifically.

I nodded. "I know. I know you do, and I do it on purpose. Do you?"

"Yeah." He laughed softly. "I do."

"I'm not sure why he thinks we should kiss each other, though," I said, my blush deepening. I looked at my hands.

"Um, Jess... look at me. No, look at me."

I looked up into his beautiful blue-gray eyes that were full of barely suppressed laughter, but also something else. Something abashed and heated at the same time.

Bucky said, "Steve said that because he knows me, and he knows what it looks like when I really like a girl." He cleared his throat. "And, uh, yeah. Well, there it is. Out on the... broken... table."

I blurted out, "But why on earth would you like me?" Then I remembered that night.

_"I love you."_

_"Why?"_

I thought about the fact that people never love each other because of _reasons_.

I didn't give him a chance to come up with some witty answer. I stood up, walked over to his chair, pulled him up by his collar, and kissed the shit out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story. In the original prompt for this fic, there was this addendum:
> 
> "Bonus: rehabilitated!Bucky is nonverbal, with strange methods of showing affection, such as leaving dead Hydra agents at Steve's door."
> 
> Obviously i decided to go in a different direction with the story (so I don't get the bonus points), but I do wish I could have included it somehow.


	28. Chapter 28

I would have thought there would be some discomfort between Bucky and Steve afterward, or perhaps Steve and myself. Would Steve feel like a third wheel? Was I intruding somehow?

But Steve was just so relieved to have the fighting stop that he seemed more than fine with the new arrangement. In fact, he was a tiny bit smug about it.

Bucky and I didn't... completely... break the tension between us. Okay, I'll say it right out: we didn't fuck. Not then, not there. But we spent a lot of time kissing each other after that little altercation, and sometimes that kissing was a little more than kissing. We were frankly behaving like two teenagers who didn't have a private place to go. But I think on some level the idea of consummating things completely made me nervous, and seemed quite ungentlemanly to him, so the restriction wasn't entirely unwelcome.

That said, the kissing was sufficient to stop the fighting. Mostly just because Steve had finally identified what the fights were really about: Bucky and I had been constantly needling each other with _Do you really love me?_ without knowing that was what we were asking.

No wonder Steve and Bucky got along so perfectly. They had answered that question between the two of them decades ago. Bucky and I still had a ways to go.

After that, his pressured speech seemed to ease up a bit as well, and he even started to have long periods of quiet. I think being quiet had stopped frightening him so badly. It no longer felt like bondage; he could relax into it. And he needed to be quiet sometimes now, because more of the memories of being the Asset were surfacing, and those were difficult to deal with.

I loved sitting with Bucky when he was quietly thinking about something. I would sketch or write (more on that later) and sit beside him while he ruminated. Occasionally he put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Are you bored?"

I would smile back at him. "No."

"Liar."

Usually that led to more kissing.

I had only been around Bucky in his present physical state, so the subject of his arm really never bothered me that much. But you're probably wondering about it.

For one thing, we never needed the ointment again. Either it had never really been necessary in the first place (tacrolimus prevents skin from rejecting grafts), or else his body had acclimated to the arm to the point where it wasn't necessary anymore. Or maybe it was the combination of freezing and thawing that had made it necessary before. At any rate, the skin on his shoulder didn't flare up or chap.

To some extent, his arm did bother me, but not because it disgusted me. It was more the way he himself reacted to it. Even during his talkative periods, little reminders of his metal arm could turn him morose. This was especially true once he no longer had our arguments to use as a distraction. And the little reminders were frequent. For one thing, it made those tiny clockwork squeals and churning sounds every time he moved; I was used to it, but it never quite seemed to stop bugging him. There were times when he would perform the same arm motion over and over and over again, trying to do it silently. Sometimes he succeeded. Most of the time he didn't.

He also didn't like to touch me with his metal hand. Or he didn't like the idea of it at least, because he usually ended up touching me with it when he stopped thinking about it. I somewhat mischievously made it my goal to make him forget about the arm as often as I could. I succeeded a lot.

I didn't mind it at all. I hadn't minded since the first moment I saw him. Bucky's arm was just a part of him, as far as I was concerned.

Maybe even more than that.

I finally broke down and told him one night. I was sitting on his lap (Steve had gone to bed, so I felt that I was allowed) and he was doing his best to hold me there with just one arm while also caressing me with that hand, and failing. I finally just whispered in his ear, "I wish you would just touch me with your left hand without worrying so much about it."

He smiled. "Do I worry about it?"

"You seem to, yes. It doesn't bother me. In fact. Um."

His eyes widened. "In fact what?"

"It kind of turns me on." I felt myself blushing hot.

His eyes darkened and I felt him shift in the chair as though he were trying to conceal an erection. Looking dead into my eyes, he traced the outer curve of my right breast with his left (metal) forefinger. I shivered and closed my eyes, suppressing a moan.

"Well, now." He laughed a positively _evil_ fucking laugh, and proceeded to stroke my leg with his metal hand, slowly up and down.

I kissed him and then fled before I could do anything stupid, but I had a rather intense dream about his metal fingertips that night, and it was one of the few times I've ever orgasmed in my sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

It wasn't a mere honeymoon idyll in the woods, and I don't want to make it sound like that. We all had work to do while Bucky recuperated.

For one thing, Steve had taken the risk of contacting Nick Fury regarding Hydra. In his words, "He probably knows we're here already anyway. I wouldn't be surprised if he had goons hiding behind the bushes in the back yard."

I'm not sure what Fury said in response, but whatever it was, it involved a lot of note-taking and planning on Steve's part.

Bucky also had to get in fighting trim, literally. He and Steve spent quite a bit of time sparring outside. I often watched from the window (wouldn't you?), because I'd discovered that when I watched them openly outside, they both got distracted because they are Boys and I am a Girl and apparently one does not spar well when there are Girls watching.

Steve had the edge on Bucky when it came to hand-to-hand fighting, but Bucky refused to use his knives and guns to gain advantage. That seemed smart. Steve insisted on some target shooting, though, until they finally dragged the target out of the back shed and Bucky hit the bullseye with his pistol from 300 yards three times in a row. Then Steve shut up about it. Bucky did some trick knife-throwing as well at a tree trunk in the yard, just to hammer his point home. Bucky could be kind of a dick at times.

God, I love that man.

My job while this was going on was mostly mental: I had to remember things and write them down. Secret things. Complicated things. Things I wasn't supposed to reveal.

Bucky's memories were returning slowly, but not as quickly as his personality had; his memories of Hydra were returning the slowest of all, I think because all of them were wiped before they had aged more than a few days. He and I worked together, remembering things. It wasn't easy or pleasant for him. Most of what he had done as the Asset were not the kind of things a person wants to remember. It made him moodier and difficult to work with, but I still seemed to have a knack for getting him to communicate with me.

I helped him put his details together into a manageable whole, and he helped me pull my details out of my reluctant, encyclopedic brain.

Steve already knew the damage that this could cause me, and Bucky learned it very quickly, and neither of them were particularly overjoyed about the idea. But it was easier with Bucky's help, because my own awareness of the security clearance of my audience had a large role in determining whether I could tell them things. On some subconscious level, my inner EID knew that Bucky was high-level Hydra. Perhaps the highest level there was. So I was able to tell him things that I couldn't have told otherwise. None of the vaulted stuff, but other things that he supposedly already knew.

That was a tricky bit of mental sleight of hand, and it backfired often. I'd be mid-sentence with him and suddenly my brain would shut down hard and all of my training would bite at me, and I'd end up in a whimpering heap. But I didn't give up.

The problem was, I had spent a lifetime tackling every project head-on at ninety miles per hour and with 150% of my self behind it, and this was no different. Imparting information was the only thing I could do to help? Well, I was determined to DO it, all day long if necessary, until I was sick. Neither of them appreciated this. Bucky, particularly when he was having a bad time remembering, would see me struggling to write something down and simply pluck the pencil right out of my hand and throw it across the room. We lost a lot of pencils that way.

Steve transmitted the data to the right people, and looked at me with worried eyes, but didn't say anything. I sensed he understood my need to be useful. I felt like I was making up for being complicit in Hydra's operations.

Bucky fidgeted whenever he worked with me, and often he got sick of it and removed me bodily from the chair and dragged me outside. We took long walks together as I tried to regain myself. When he didn't intervene, I often kept working until I started vomiting or writhing in pain. My work was the only thing we still argued about.

My semi-constant headache got stronger and I started to have nightmares again.


	30. Chapter 30

One night, I had a dream where I was tied up and forced to watch as Hydra agents tortured Bucky. I woke up shaky and terrified, a sharp ache in the pit of my stomach. I knew I wasn't going to sleep again any time soon, so I got up and went to the kitchen.

Bucky was sitting at the table. (Steve had repaired it soon after breaking it. I got the faint impression that he'd had to fix destroyed furniture more than once in his past.)

"Hi," I said, and sat down wearily.

"Nightmares?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"You've been screaming in your sleep."

My eyes widened. "Screaming? Really?"

"Well, not aloud, you make these tiny soft cries. But I think that in the dream, you're screaming."

"You've been listening to me?"

"The walls are pretty thick between the rooms, but the doors aren't. Sometimes when I'm up at night I can hear you through the door. You cry when you wake up sometimes." He pointed at his ear. "Super-hearing."

"Right, I forgot. Wait, you stay up at night?"

"I have nightmares too," he said simply.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were having them?"

"Because it's not your job to take care of me."

He quirked an eyebrow. "As it happens, it's not your job to take care of me, either. Not anymore." He got up and went to the stove, where a saucepan was gently steaming. "Want some cocoa?"

"Sure." I rubbed my eyes. "I guess it's hard to break the habit of being your caretaker."

"Yeah, you and Steve both have that problem. Worry-warts. I swear he holds back when we're sparring."

"I can understand that."

"I don't. The one thing that Hydra _didn't_ damage was my ability to throw a punch." He brought the cocoa to the table and sat down. "Here. It helps."

I took the hot mug in my hands, and just the feel of it was comforting.

"What was your dream about?" he asked.

I shook my head. _No way._

"Ah. Me again."

"Stop reading my mind."

"Stop calling my name out at night."

I smirked at him. "How do you know I'm not just dreaming about sex?"

He looked at his cocoa, and then chuckled and shook his head. "I guess you _could_ be dreaming about... well... you know... but if you're dreaming about that and crying when you wake up, then dream-me is obviously not a very nice guy." He paused and looked at me directly. "And I am a nice guy. A _very_ nice guy."

"I know," I said. I took a sip of cocoa. "And you make good cocoa."

"Better than yours at any rate."

"Be nice, Mr. Nice Guy."

I heard a quiet step enter the room. "Is this a party that anybody can join?"

I turned around. Steve was standing there, looking sleepy and rumpled. And shirtless. I tried not to stare.

"Sit down, I made extra," said Bucky, getting up to pour more cocoa.

Steve sat down. He looked at me. "Nightmares about Bucky again?"

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Can't you guys give me just the tiniest bit of privacy?"

"I dunno," Steve said. "Can we, Buck?"

"I doubt it," Bucky said amiably. He handed Steve a mug of cocoa. "Blow on it, or it might scald your delicate little mouth."

"Watch it, tough guy."

"Tough guy, nice guy, so many different sides to me," Bucky sighed dramatically and sat down. "Good thing I've got two nursemaids to watch my every move."

"Bucky thinks we worry about him too much," I said to Steve. "He seems to forget that he died in front of you, and later on nearly killed me."

I immediately knew I'd gone too far. Steve nodded, but Bucky flushed a little and frowned. "Do I need to say I'm sorry?"

"No..."

"Or is it that I need to promise I'll never do it again?" Bucky looked at me with hurt in his eyes.

"No," I said.

"Yes," Steve said.

We both looked at Steve, who was looking at Bucky with great seriousness. "You have to promise me you'll never die in front of me again. I need that. The first time it happened, I... I just can't ever go through that again, Buck."

Bucky studied Steve for a minute, his eyes sad. "I can't make that promise and you know it."

"Why not?"

"Because we're going to have to fight Hydra again, and I'm not letting you do it alone."

Steve got up from the table and turned away.

Bucky reached for him. "Steve..."

"Goodnight," Steve said curtly as he walked back to the bedrooms.

Bucky and I sat in silence for a moment.

"What promises do you want from me?" he asked me wearily.

"I don't need any promises," I said. "I know there are certain things you have to do. Just like me."

"... Thank you. Not that I should have to have either of your permission."

I touched his hand. "No, you shouldn't. You're absolutely right. But you also shouldn't be too hard on Steve. He's been alone for a really long time."

"So was I."

"Don't be childish. You guys need each other. He knows that. I'm not sure if you do."

"Childish?" He lifted an eyebrow.

"Childish," I said firmly. "You're not a kid anymore. You can't go off to fight without thinking about who it's going to hurt if you die."

Bucky got up and left the room.

I sighed and drummed my fingers on the table. It was going to be a long night.


	31. Chapter 31

The next day was reminiscent of the first days we'd spent in the cabin; Bucky didn't speak to either of us all day long. Steve and I exchanged a few words, but nothing serious or deep, just everyday stuff. We both watched Bucky with worried eyes. I knew that Bucky could sense it, and I knew that it was annoying him.

Trying not to think about it, I worked past my endurance and ended up with a migraine. Steve sent me to bed.

This time, I dreamed that Bucky was killed in front of me, and I woke up sobbing and shaking, unable to stop until I suddenly felt a warm pair of arms around me, one firm and muscular, the other hard as steel but still somehow gentle... only one pair of arms on earth feels like that. His smell surrounded me and I relaxed into his warmth.

Bucky lay next to me and held me as I cried into his chest, leaving a wet, snotty place on his shirt like a little kid. He didn't protest, just stroked my hair and waited for me to finish.

"Tell me," he said, when I was quiet.

"You were dead," I whispered.

He sighed. "I'm not dead. I'm right here."

I punched him lightly in the chest.

"Ow."

"Do you think Steve and I are doing this because it's _fun_?"

"Probably. Ow, okay, no I don't! Stop hitting me."

"And he doesn't have anybody to hold him when he has bad dreams," I said softly.

"You want me to go and cuddle with him for a while?" he asked drily.

"Why not?"

"... Yeah. Really can't quite get my head around this modern age."

"You certainly know your way around modern guns."

"Guns are a hell of a lot simpler than people."

"Okay, I agree with you there. Bucky, to be honest, I don't really know my way around people that well either."

"Now that I don't believe."

"No, really. I spent my entire life pushing people away until I met you. Then you turned me into, well, just look at the mess I am right now. This is what human looks like. I'm not sure it was a good trade."

"Oh no?" He placed a row of soft kisses up the side of my neck. "You sure?"

"Okay," I said breathlessly. "It was worth it."

"You think I should go talk to Steve?"

"Yes, I do. In a minute."

"Just one minute? Not two or three?"

"You, sir, are not nearly as irresistible as you'd like to think."

"Says the girl pulling me back into her bed. Mmmmph. Okay, okay." He laughed. "I have to go, we're going to get ourselves in trouble."

"One of these days, Bucky, we're going to be alone, and you're going to realize just exactly how much trouble we can get into."

"You don't give me enough credit for imagination, Jess. I already have a few ideas."

"I'm counting on it."


	32. Chapter 32

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

"I'm _fine_ , Bucky."

"No, you're _not_ , you're doing the thing with your forehead again and that means you're hurting."

"I can hurt a little and still be okay!"

"Not on my watch!"

"Didn't we just establish the other day that we're not each other's caretaker?"

"If you took care of yourself, I wouldn't _need_ to!"

"Well, now, this is starting to sound like the Avengers," a sultry voice said from the doorway. "Constant bickering while we try to save the world."

Bucky and I stopped yelling and looked up. There was a stunning young woman with dark red hair standing just inside the open door, smirking at us.

"Nat, I'm glad you're here," Steve said, coming to the door. His voice said that he wasn't entirely sure whether he was glad she was here. "I guess I should introduce you. This is Jessie. Jessie Couring, Natasha Romanov."

"The girl I've heard so much about." Natasha shook my hand, and about one instant later I realized exactly who she was, and found myself clinging to her hand and staring. "I'm going to need that hand back eventually," she said. I let go, chagrined.

"And this is my friend Bucky Barnes."

Bucky stood up with a charming and completely fake smile. Natasha hesitated for a deliberate moment, and then coolly shook his offered hand. "Nice to finally get your name. Bucky."

He tilted his head. "Have we met before?"

"You shot me, but don't worry. You were aiming at someone else at the time, so I didn't take it personally." There was quiet venom in her voice.

Bucky's face fell. "I'm afraid I don't remember."

"And the two of you are an item, I see," Natasha said, glancing back at me.

"When she's not trying to take over the world," Bucky said.

I glared at him. "When he's not irritating the shit out of me," I said.

Natasha's face relaxed and she grinned at Steve. "How fun for you."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You have NO idea. Tell me you've come to get us out of here?"

"Yes, you are officially emancipated. Fury doesn't think this location is safe anymore; we've got a secure base a little ways from here."

"We're not going back to SHIELD?" Steve asked.

Bucky and I exchanged a look. I said, "Not a good idea."

"Why?" Steve said.

I shrugged helplessly.

"Because we believe based on the data you've given us that SHIELD's been infiltrated by Hydra, possibly at the highest level," said Natasha. "Until we're sure who we can and can't trust, everybody who knows about it is in danger. Particularly you three." Her cell phone rang; she answered it with a curt, "Yes." After a few moments, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She hung up without saying goodbye. "Okay, our threat level just got bumped from bad to worse."

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"That was Agent Hill. Apparently Fury was attacked and nearly killed by a dozen men posing as police officers in the middle of the city. He was able to get away, but this makes it official: SHIELD is no longer safe. Come on, I have to get you out of here."

"No offense, but how do we know we can trust you?" said Bucky.

"We can trust her," I said, and winced. That was all I could say. Hydra had an entire file on her.

Bucky and Steve glanced at me and nodded. Natasha gave me a questioning look, but evidently decided to leave it alone. I guessed that she knew what I was.

I rubbed my temples as we prepared to leave. It felt like a loss; that cabin had been a place of serious healing and protection (and for Bucky, rebirth). I think also that the cabin had represented the end of three separate journeys of loneliness; the beginnings of a kind of family. I've missed it ever since the day we left.

Just as we were doing a last run-through in the cabin, I said, "I have a problem."

"What's up?" said Steve.

"It's my brother. I don't know where he is or when he'll try to contact me next, and he's in the dark and running out of money. I can't keep him out there hiding while I bounce from place to place."

Natasha thought for a moment. "Give me a moment to hack the phone logs." She disappeared for a few minutes and returned. "I have his number. I'll find him and brief him and give him some funds to work with."

"It's that easy for you?" Steve said.

Natasha just smirked at him.

"Thank you," I said, immensely relieved.

"What about Peggy?" Steve said.

Natasha shook her head. "I'm sorry, Steve, she's in the hospital."

Steve's eyes widened. "Is she okay?"

"A broken hip, nothing life-threatening, but at her age she needs to stay put. I'm afraid that the best security we can offer her is the fact that Hydra probably doesn't see her as a threat right now."

"We have to assign someone to watch her..."

"There are two agents assigned to her, that we hope are trustworthy. That was the best we could do. Now, everything else will wait until we're relocated. Come on."

"Should we take both cars?" Steve asked as we went outside.

"Negative, leave yours here," Natasha said. "There's no way you'd keep up with me anyway."

We didn't talk much on the trip, and I couldn't help but notice that Natasha kept throwing little curious glances at myself and Bucky. I suspected she was wondering whether she could trust us, which may have been a better question than whether we could trust _her_ ; after all, both Bucky and I had a confirmed history with Hydra. She didn't.

I wondered about the shooting incident, but it didn't seem to be the sort of thing one casually asks for details about. I wondered how many other people we were going to need to work with who might have past issues with Bucky.

Natasha and Steve sat in the front, Bucky and I were in the back. After the first few minutes, Bucky took my hand. I looked into his eyes, and he winked at me. Not a joking wink, but a reassuring one. _I'm here with you._ I realized that I had been reverting back to my old mindset; sitting and stewing and feeling completely alone. But I wasn't alone. Not anymore.


	33. Chapter 33

The "safe house" was more like a great big hole in the ground; it didn't inspire much confidence. But I had to admit that if I was the enemy, I would never think to look for the elite of SHIELD here. Maria Hill met us at the entry and guided us in. I nodded deferentially to her when she saw me, and she nodded back; she had used me before to transmit messages. There was something reassuring about seeing a familiar face.

It wasn't the only familiar face I was about to see, though. Our entry was a little more exciting than I think Nick Fury expected.

When we walked into the main room of the, well, cave, Fury was sitting at a conference table with his arm in a sling. Otherwise he appeared undamaged, and stood to greet Steve and gather introductions to the rest of us. Before we could quite get to that point, though, I noticed someone in the corner that I recognized... it was Seventeen, the soldier Bucky had punched out before going into the freezer so long ago.

I knew I wouldn't be able to get the words out in time, so I just grabbed Bucky's arm and pointed. Seventeen recognized us an instant too late; before he could do anything, Bucky was in front of him and had the tip of his pistol actually in the man's mouth. I had never seen Bucky move like that, it was like magic. One instant he was by my side, the next he was across the room. Putting his gun in Seventeen's mouth was a stroke of cleverness; it kept Seventeen from biting his trick cyanide tooth.

I learned later that Bucky hadn't recognized Seventeen at all. He'd simply trusted my eyes. That made me feel a little melty on the inside.

Fury and Hill had both drawn weapons and had them directed at Bucky. Fury said, "Now wait just a damn minute. What's going on here?"

"This man is Hydra," Bucky said darkly. Seventeen made a whimpering sound.

"Is that true?" Fury asked Steve. I had noticed that nobody seemed to have any problem trusting Steve, including myself. Maybe that was his superpower, moreso than strength or speed.

Steve said, "If Jessie and Bucky say he is, then he is. Looks like you've been compromised."

"Just when I was getting to like this place," Fury said wryly. He holstered his sidearm. "Mr. Spencer, you've just landed me with a difficult decision. And that decision is, is it worth it to keep you alive long enough to question you?"

"No," Bucky said.

"Yes," Steve said.

"I can question him in five minutes," Natasha said smoothly. She went to the man and eased her fingertips into his mouth as Bucky removed the gun barrel; she searched for a moment and pulled out the tooth.

"Do it while we pack up, then," said Fury. "You can use that room there."

Natasha said, "Jessie, join us."

I really didn't want to, but I could tell that it wasn't a request.

Bucky said, "Is that necessary?" with worry in his eyes.

"Don't worry, I won't damage your girlfriend."

I followed Natasha and Seventeen (Mr. Spencer?) into the side room. Natasha shut the metal door. There were a set of cuffs attached to a table; she shackled him and stood back a little, then looked at me.

"We'll use EID protocol. What happens in this room is vaulted. Once you go back through that door to the others, I want you to forget it. Now I'm going to question him, and you're going to signal me by raising your hand or nodding if he says anything untrue."

My mental shields slammed into place and my spine straightened. "Yes ma'am. Vaulted."

I realized in that moment that Natasha was my friend. She needed me there as a human lie detector to save time (or else just to convince him that there was no point in lying, also to save time), but she wasn't going to force me to remember watching what she was about to do to him.

We went back out, true to her promise, in under five minutes. I felt a little bit shaky on exiting. I don't remember what she said or did or anything he said or did in return. I think it's better that way.

Bucky caught my eye the moment I exited the room, and I nodded at him. _I'm fine._

"What did you find out?" Fury said.

"Well, for one thing, there was a tracking device on the back of his collar. I suggest we keep it until we're in transit and lose it somewhere in a convenient wilderness; if we destroy it now, they'll know we know. For another thing, Hydra agents really aren't very well trained. No wonder they always commit suicide. I'll tell you more once we're on the road."

"What did you do with the agent?" Steve asked.

Natasha shrugged. "I put his tooth back in. Did you guys pack rations? I'm starving."


	34. Chapter 34

When you're not accustomed to death-defying excitement, it does really stupid things to you. For instance, Bucky nearly tried to kill me that one time, and I responded by... getting high? Then we drove to the Retreat, basically running for our lives, and I nearly went to sleep in the car.

Learning how to regulate and ride with your body's natural chemical responses is one of the biggest parts of basic combat training, which was something that everybody in the group except myself had been through at one time or another. I was facing my own body completely unarmed, and per recent examples, it was kicking my ass.

Nobody had ever told me that moments of intense danger can make you horny.

No, seriously. When you survive something dangerous (key note: _without_ getting hurt), there's a rush that goes along with it that affects everything you feel. It starts as shock, but as you calm down and come back to yourself, sometimes you experience a feeling of superhuman power and ability, a massive life-affirming wave of YES, I SURVIVED THE THING, I AM AWESOME AND OH SO VERY ALIVE. I had just faced down a planted Hydra agent, watched Bucky hold him at gunpoint, and been involved in his interrogation. I'm not sure what happened in that interrogation room--I don't think torture would have affected me this way (I've since learned that Natasha views resorting to torture during interrogation as a failure of creativity)--but whatever did happen only added to the adrenaline rush rather than dampening it.

I had calmed down from the initial shock. I was now was red-hot and quivering all over with unspent life. I was powerful, I was dangerous. I was...

I was really, really fucking horny.

And I was squeezed in between Steve and Bucky on the long helicopter ride to our next base. Strapped in tight and pressed against two of the world's most epic examples of male perfection, each in their own way. Dark and light. Sinister and noble. Subtle and overt. Etc. The adjectives came thick and fast as I thought about my position in between them, and bear in mind... I was still in love with them as a pair. My thighs were pressed against theirs and I'd always had a particular affinity for men's thighs (when they're nice, that is, and these were very, very nice).

Within ten minutes I was soaking wet and that always makes me uncomfortable when I can't take my clothes off. At one point I think I considered it. I envisioned a hot, mid-air sex scene in the hands of two super soldiers, fully in view of everybody else and not even caring.

I know my face was red, and I wouldn't have been surprised if I had been glowing all over like a radioactive isotope.

I kept my hands politely in my own lap for most of the trip, but at some point the pressure turned unbearable, and I let one hand drift just a little bit, and rest on the side of Bucky's thigh. He promptly took my hand in his. I looked at him, and he looked at me, smiling reassuringly.

I _looked_ at him some more.

Have you ever looked sex at someone? It's not that hard if you're aroused enough. I just gazed into his eyes for a few seconds, intently enough that it was clear that I was attempting to communicate something. Then I pretended that my gaze was a pair of hands, and I undressed him with it, starting at his collar, unbuttoning his shirt, slowly sliding down to his pants, lingering and settling right at his crotch. Then I let my gaze slowly slide back up him again, back up to his eyes where I met them and held them.

Meanwhile I was holding his hand; I gently slid my fingers between his, in and out, in and out.

His face flushed, and he swallowed, staring at me. I felt the pulse in his wrist quicken. I could tell he got the message.

Somehow, it helped. It was like I was now sharing half the sexual pressure with him.

I thought about doing something similar to Steve (I wasn't in my right mind, that's my only defense), but then I noticed that his own thigh muscle was tight, almost to the point of quivering. We were pressed very closely together, mind you, and he and I had only experienced physical contact once or twice in all the time we'd been around each other.

Plus, I looked like the first woman he ever fell in love with, so that probably wasn't helping him any. I glanced up at his face, which was as carefully blank as a sheet of paper.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head slightly back, trying to relax.

Bucky said in a tight voice, "Are you okay?"

I said, "Sure." No problem. Everything fine here.

We hit some rough air and the chopper shuddered a little bit. It felt like a vibrator. I bit my lip. This was utterly ridiculous. I decided that Bucky and I needed to take advantage of some alone time as soon as humanly possible.

Assuming we could get some before we all got killed.


	35. Chapter 35

Now, an experienced soldier and tactician would probably give a very different account of the following than I will. The fact is, for me, a lot of it runs together: there was a lot of running around, quite a bit of talking, lots of making calls, lots of gadgetry, we went different places, and nobody got shot. I can remember all of it easily, but very little of it made any sense, so reciting the details wouldn't help anybody. Plus I'm still twitchy about putting certain strategic things down on paper.

Once we got settled at our new safe house, Nick Fury sat Bucky and myself down at a table with a stack of binders full of photographs of SHIELD operatives, telling us to sort out who was Hydra and who wasn't. We may not have known everybody in Hydra, but we could at least rule out the obvious.

When I reached Alexander Pierce's photograph, I froze.

Bucky stopped what he was doing and looked at my face, and then he carefully took Pierce's photograph and examined it. "Yeah, I remember him now." He put Pierce into the Hydra pile.

Fury stared at the photo and then at us. "If that's the case, then we're in a lot more danger than I thought we were."

I rubbed my temples. My head was starting to pound.

"Time to take a break," Bucky said firmly.

"I'm fine."

"This is somewhat important, Barnes," Fury said.

"Yes, but it also causes her brain damage," Bucky said shortly. "Just a quick break, then we keep going, okay?"

I didn't want to, but I scooted my chair away from the table. Bucky was right; if I didn't take a break, I'd soon be useless. "A short one."

We were in a slightly better situation than the cave this time; Fury had taken us to a mansion on the side of a mountain. The view was spectacular (and I assume tactically a good thing?) and the walls were as thick as a fortress; a number of rooms at the back went right into the mountain. We were also closer to D.C. than we had been. But more importantly, unlike what I had seen of the cave, this place had _tons_ of bedrooms.

Fury took me to one of the rooms and I collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes, wishing that Bucky were with me. I heard the door close.

I think I fell asleep; I blinked and the light in the room changed. And the door was silently opening. I was wide awake in seconds, terrified that the mansion had been infiltrated and it was some assassin or something coming for me, but a soft voice said, "Hey, it's me."

I turned over on the bed and raised myself up on my elbows. "Bucky."

He came to the bed and sat down. "It's probably not a good idea for me to be in here."

"How long was I asleep?" I felt groggy.

"About an hour and a half."

"Fury let me sleep that long?"

"He and Steve are having an argument about whether to dissolve SHIELD completely. That's been pretty distracting for everybody except me." Bucky put his metal hand on my leg. "I've been distracted by other things."

His touch sent a tiny shot of arousal like an electric shock straight between my legs. I said, "Like what?"

"Like what a bad, bad girl you were on the helicopter ride over." His hand glided up and down my thigh.

I swallowed hard. "Sorry, I think I got a little over-excited after the action earlier."

He smiled. "Are we becoming a thrill-seeker?"

"Come here."

"We can't," he said. "Everybody will know."

"I don't care."

"I care about your reputation."

I laughed softly. "You still haven't gotten the hang of the new century. Yes, they'll probably be upset because we're supposed to be focused on Hydra rather than each other. But my reputation should be fine."

His hand kept moving, up, down, up, down, and it was getting hard to breathe. Bucky loosened his collar and shook his head. "Do you know what you did to me up there?"

"A little. Should I be punished?"

He laughed. "Do you want a spanking?"

"Among other things."

We met each other halfway on the bed and I kissed him with lips that felt swollen and tingly. "We can't take long," Bucky whispered.

There was a knock on the door. Bucky said a phrase that I didn't know that men knew in the 1940s. He cleared his throat and called, "We'll be right out."

The door opened slightly and Natasha peeked in. "Save it for tonight, kids. We have work to do."


	36. Chapter 36

We were looking at photos until evening, and by the time I finished, my head felt like it was being crushed between two stones. I went to bed that night feeling incredibly frustrated and ill.

I didn't expect to sleep, but I think I did for an hour or so; my head demanded it. I was awoken by a soft knock on the door.

This time, visions of assassins didn't even enter my mind. I sat up in bed, wide awake now, and said, "Bucky."

He came inside. "Hey... how's your head?"

"It's killing me. Get over here."

He joined me on the bed. "I don't want to do this if you're hurting."

"I can't think of any better remedy for a headache."

"You sure?"

I put my hand on his chest and slid it down between his legs, feeling the swelling there. "I'm sure."

I had never before experienced anything like what I experienced that night in Bucky's arms. I'd always liked sex, certainly, but this was something else entirely.

We didn't do anything out of the ordinary, all of the usual things happened: we took off our clothes, we rolled around, there was foreplay, we had sex... but all of it was extraordinary anyway. Everywhere he touched me I could feel my body unfolding like a flower in the sunlight. It was like I had been waiting for this night, for this man; as though my body recognized him somehow. _It was you, all along._ Everywhere he kissed me struck flame.

I had a feeling of immense relief and release as I explored his body. _Finally_ I kissed my way across his shoulders, _finally_ I ran the palms of my hands over his chest and laid a kiss right over his heart, _finally_ I let my fingernails glide along the muscles in his thighs.

I felt like I already knew his body in the context of torture and abuse, so I redefined him. Everywhere I touched him, I made it an apology and a recompense for what had been done to his body by Hydra. _This is what you should feel,_ I said with my hands. _This is what being human should be like._ I tried to make up for the part I'd had in his pain before by giving him pleasure now. At first he seemed a little taken aback, as though he had expected to do all the work himself, but he eventually relaxed into my touch and then guided my hands with his own.

The one part of his body I felt unfamiliar with was his erect cock. I took my time with it, touching, rubbing, kissing, and finally using my tongue. He gripped my shoulders and physically pulled me away, whispering, "Give me a minute." He was panting.

I laughed. "Some day I'll finish you that way."

"You sound like you enjoy it a lot."

"I do."

"Well, I don't intend to let you have all the fun."

Then I relaxed and allowed him to explore my body, learning more about him as he went. He was a breast man, I figured that one out pretty quickly; but then he spent time on my hips, my belly, my legs. He took his time, teasing me before finally nudging my legs apart with his hands. I wasn't sure what to expect from an old-fashioned gentleman, but either he hadn't been _that_ much of a gentleman or else he'd had a vivid and elaborate imagination. His mouth was agile and creative. He was remarkably gentle in all he did, and I could tell he wasn't completely inexperienced, but also not quite experienced enough to be completely self-assured. With each touch, he asked me a question, and I answered by pressing into it and asking for more. Eventually even that wasn't enough; I pulled him up and kissed him and pressed my entire body against his.

"Are you ready for me?" He almost sounded shy.

"Yes. Very. A lot."

When he entered me, a tremor went through both of us. He kissed the juncture of my neck and shoulder and whispered, "Then let's get started." He moved inside me gently.

"Dance with me," I whispered.

"Yes ma'am."

We moved together rhythmically in the oldest dance there was, and he kept telling me how wonderful I felt, how amazing I was, and I blushed in the dark and said his name as his sweat and smell covered me. He finally pushed himself deep and shuddered hard, and I knew he was coming.

He didn't stop.

I learned that night that one of the benefits of being a super soldier is that the healing ability of Bucky's body meant that he had no refractory period. He simply kept going. I lost count of how many times I came that night. Each time I completely lost myself and was recalled back to earth by his voice in my ear, murmuring that the night was still young. I finally had to beg him to stop because I was getting sore.

By the time I finally collapsed and slept in his arms, my headache was completely gone.


	37. Chapter 37

I woke in the night feeling cold. I blinked in the moonlight and looked around. Bucky was sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, looking out the window.

I sat up and moved to his side. His face looked dark and dangerous, his eyes were cold; it was as though he were channeling his old self again. I hesitantly said, "What's up?"

His eyes lightened and he looked at me and gave me a half-smile. "Hi. I was just thinking about the future."

"Didn't look like you were having good thoughts."

"I wasn't. I was thinking about taking down Hydra the first time. It wasn't easy, and that was before they were mixed up with SHIELD. All we had to do was find the bases and clean house. Now... we'll have to root them out individually and kill them."

"Kill them? Prison isn't an option?"

He shook his head. "Taking prisoners requires facilities we don't have. No. If SHIELD were healthy then we could round them all up and take them to trial I guess. But not now." His eyes went cold again. "It's going to be a nasty job. A lot of up-close wet work, and it's going to take years."

I sensed where he was going with this. "It doesn't have to be _your_ job."

"Can you think of anyone better?"

"What about Natasha?"

"I think she's a spy, Jess. Not an assassin. But I am. Best one in the world."

"You _were_ the best assassin in the world."

"Are you saying I'm someone different now?"

I gently placed the palm of my hand between his shoulder blades. His skin felt cool. "Now you're a human being. They had to take that away from you to make you the world's best assassin."

He looked bleak. "I guess that's the problem, isn't it? I can't be both."

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed to sit beside him. I felt irritated with his sudden nihilism. "So you'll give up your humanity to rid the world of Hydra. That's noble, I guess. On behalf of humanity, thanks a lot."

He looked at me, offended, but his eyes were back to normal again. "This is serious."

"Very serious. Would you like me to carve out your heart and keep it in a jar until you're done?"

"What?"

"Maybe we can get that mind wipe chair back from Hydra and use it on you. That was so much fun."

"Jess--"

"Do we need to keep you frozen in between missions again just so you stay alive long enough to get the job done?"

"Would you stop? You're being ridiculous."

"I'll stop being ridiculous once you stop being a fucking martyr. You didn't escape Hydra so you could go right back to being what they tried to turn you into. _Tried_ to turn you into. You sitting here next to me means they failed."

"If you ask the people I killed, they succeeded!"

"I'm not interested in your past, Bucky!"

"It's who I am!"

"No, it's NOT!" I wanted to slap him. I glared at him.

He glared back at me, his eyes hot and angry and very human.

We sat that way for a few moments, at an utter impasse, and I suddenly realized that we were fighting again. I think the same thought occurred to him at the same time; at any rate, suddenly we were both trying not to smile. And of course it's impossible to resist a mutual smile. We both started snickering, and then we were laughing.

I took his hand. "We're the worst, aren't we?"

"Maybe you're the worst. I'm just fine."

I tackled him and wrestled him down to the bed, biting his neck. He let me, grinning, and then quickly flipped us over so that he was on top, holding me down.

He said, "You're cheating."

"What, distracting you with sex from your thoughts of personality suicide? How dare me."

He kissed me. "I still haven't given you that spanking."

"Maybe you're not as dark and mean as you think you are, mister."

"Maybe I'm just nice to _you_."

"Nice? You're an ass to me. I'm stupid enough to love you anyway."

We both paused, and his eyes widened. I felt myself turn red.

"You what now?" His eyes twinkled.

I closed my eyes for a moment, and then opened them and laughed. "You probably don't remember, but I told you that once before."

"No, I don't remember. When?"

"Just before you decided not to shoot me," I said quietly. "YOU decided. Remember that."

He looked as though he were trying to think of an answer, and then just decided to kiss me again. Deep and thorough, this time. I slowly wrapped my legs around him.

"I thought you were sore," he whispered in my ear.

"I am. But my headache is gone."

"Wow... so I guess we found a cure for brain damage?"

"And considering we're both brain damaged..."

"I think we might need to get some sleep." He smiled wickedly.

"In a minute."

"It would be irresponsible of me to be all sleepy tomorrow."

"Are you a super soldier or not? You'll be fine."

"What about you?"

"I have another headache."

He laughed.


	38. Chapter 38

As it turned out, feeling tired was not my biggest problem the next day. My biggest problem was afterglow. I didn't realize it could actually last until the following morning.

I felt it a little when I went down to breakfast; I was a bit flushed and almost high, not sleepy in the least despite the fact that we'd probably only gotten about two hours of sleep total. Then Bucky walked in. His cheeks were positively rosy, and his eyes sparkled. There was a spring in his step, which is something I thought was always just an expression, but trust me, it's a real thing. Everything about him just seemed... lifted, somehow. And he had the same tiny smile on his face that I could feel on mine. I quickly looked away before he could meet my eyes, and I focused on my eggs and toast, trying my best to be invisible.

I glanced up and saw Steve examining me closely. I looked back down; our time in the cabin had taught me that he was a better than phenomenal reader of body language. I glanced back up, and he had a single eyebrow raised at me. His mouth was serious. Then he looked at Bucky, and this time he _glared_.

Bucky met Steve's eyes and stopped in his tracks. His eyes had a million innocent question marks in them.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and sat back in his chair. His gaze at Bucky was sharply disapproving.

Watching the two of them was mortifying and fascinating at the same time. I had never seen two people so attuned that they could hold an entire conversation with their eyes alone. And I had gotten to know the two of them well enough that I could understand most of it, but I didn't understand why Steve disapproved so much. And why Bucky in particular? My worst fear was that my faint suspicions were confirmed; that he was in love and felt betrayed.

But then he would be glaring at me just as much, I thought, for stealing Bucky.

Could he be in love with _me_? I seriously doubted it. The idea was flattering, but we'd had ample opportunities to experience intimate moments during our time in the cabin, and he had never hinted that he wanted anything more from me than friendship.

Then I realized that this was Captain America we were dealing with, the icon of nobility and goodness, who probably still held to sexual mores from the 1940s.

He must have thought that Bucky had _taken advantage_ of me.

I pressed my lips together, not sure whether I wanted to laugh or cry. I suspected that I needed to have a conversation with Steve soon. The last thing I needed was for him to start guarding my virtue; I had exactly zero interest in my virtue as far as Bucky was concerned.

"Morning, all," Fury drawled as he walked into the room. "I hope that everybody is _well-rested_ today." He didn't look at Bucky or me, but we both dropped our eyes anyway like chastened children. "Yesterday, we decided, or I should say the Captain decided, that SHIELD is going down with the ship." He glared a quiet dagger at Steve, who looked coolly back at him. Fury continued, "So today, we form a new coalition and a plan for rooting out Hydra and tearing down the existing establishment." He sat down. "If anybody can think of a catchy acronym for us, now would be the time."

"BRAND," I said after a short pause. "Basis for Retaliation Against Nested Defection." I have a talent for small useless things like that.

Everybody stared at me.

I shrugged. "I took it from 'firebrand'. That's what Heracles used to scorch the necks of the Hydra after cutting off the heads, to keep them from growing back."

"A firebrand is also a hellion," Steve said approvingly. "A revolutionary. I think it's perfect."

Fury shrugged. "Then I call the first meeting of BRAND to order by stating the obvious: we are currently considered fugitives and traitors by most of SHIELD. Our present situation is tenuous, and our choices are limited."

"As I see it, we only have one choice," Bucky said darkly.

"Don't," I said angrily.

"And what choice might that be, Sergeant Barnes?"

"Well--"

I cut him off. "He wants to assassinate every member of Hydra that we know of. By himself."

"You have a better idea?" Bucky said to me pointedly.

"ANY idea would be a better idea," I said.

"It has merit," Natasha said offhandedly. "But it's not going to work."

"Why not?" Bucky asked.

"First of all, no offense, but you're too damaged to be expected to carry off a mission like that yourself, even if it could be accomplished by a single person, which I seriously doubt. Then there's your prior conditioning..."

"... And then there's the fact that killing the members of Hydra individually would only drive the ones we don't know about underground," Fury finished.

Bucky openly stared at Natasha with a wounded expression. "Damaged?"

She met his gaze with perfect equanimity. "When was the last time you slept a full night?"

He didn't answer. I looked down at the table.

Steve said, "We have to find a way to flush them out into the open. Then we can recruit the loyal members of SHIELD and have an open fight."


	39. Chapter 39

I've generalized a lot of the following to omit key strategic details...

Steve's remark was met by silence. We all knew he was right, but it sounded impossible.

"How do you bring out into the open a group of people who have been successfully hiding within SHIELD for over seventy years?" said Hill.

"And then convince SHIELD to fight with them?" I said. "Most of SHIELD knows Hydra as a history lesson, if that much. The name doesn't automatically send off warning bells anymore."

"As to that, I have something that may help us," Fury said. "Ever since Loki paid us a visit, I've been pushing a little project called Insight. It's a threat-analysis and removal platform involving three satellite-linked helicarriers, armed at a global level and capable of staying airborne indefinitely. The weapons on the helicarriers are capable of wiping out thousands of hostiles in minutes."

"Threat removal? Meaning we're shooting people who haven't done anything yet?" Steve said. "That sounds pretty Hydra to me."

"I prefer to think of it as pre-emptive protection," said Fury. "It's a real-world response to a real-world problem."

"It's just a more efficient way of doing what we already try to do," said Natasha. "Track threats and try to predict their outcomes, but with more prevention than before."

"I disagree," said Steve. "You're holding a gun to everybody on earth and calling it protection."

"I would argue with that," said Fury, "but considering the fact that Alexander Pierce has been one of the chief champions of the project, you may have a point. Hydra apparently has their own interest in those helicarriers, and I want to know what that is."

"Simple," said Bucky. "Sounds like a perfect way to wipe out anybody you want to..."

"... And then keep everybody else under your control," Steve finished.

"Their mission is to bring order to humanity," I said. I looked at Bucky. "You said something like that to me, back when you were still brainwashed."

"Controlling humanity... that would be a neat trick," said Natasha. "Could they do it with just three helicarriers?"

"You'd have to see the plans to understand just how effective they would be," said Fury.

"It's insanity," said Steve.

"Well, Hydra's insanity may be our best ally," said Fury. "They've given themselves an impossible feat. Our is much more reasonable: stop them."

"So how do the helicarriers come in?" said Bucky.

"Well, just look at what happened around this table a moment ago," said Fury. "Insight is a polarizing project. Just declassifying it would bring a hailstorm of criticism, even within SHIELD. So what would happen if we got that information out into the open _and_ convinced everybody of Hydra's involvement?"

"Are you saying we put top secret data out in the open? How much of it?" said Hill.

"As much as we need to," said Fury.

"All of it," I said firmly. "Hydra is... everywhere. Steve's right; SHIELD is going down no matter what."

Everybody considered this for a moment.

"So how do we get access?" said Hill. "Disabling the encryption at that level is an executive order, it would require two Alpha-level members of SHIELD."

"I make one," said Fury.

"You don't think they would have deleted your access by now?" said Steve.

"I'm certain that they did, but I'm also certain that they didn't think of everything. I have access that they don't know about."

"How so?" said Natasha.

"Best we keep that under wraps until the time comes. So now we just need one other Alpha."

"Alexander Pierce would have had to appoint a replacement for you, so that leaves him and whoever replaced you," I said.

"Said replacement would no doubt be Hydra," said Fury. "So I'm thinking that asking politely probably won't work."

"So we ask unpolitely," said Natasha with a smile.

"Much as I hate to be less than a gentleman, I'm afraid the times call for it," said Fury. "So we need several things, now. We need to get to Alexander Pierce or my replacement, and access the files. We need to open those files up to the world. And we need to make sure that SHIELD is paying attention when we do it, because our people need some kind of a warning; the moment the names of every Hydra agent hit the internet, we'll have open warfare on our hands. You'll get your fight, Captain."

"Given enough time, I can get to Pierce," said Natasha. "And if we can provide a big enough pulpit, Rogers can rally the troups."

"I'm not certain I can if they think that I'm a traitor and a fugitive."

"Don't worry," I said. "They might believe that of the rest of us, but not Captain America. They would seize any chance to believe in you again."

"You think so?" he said.

I smiled. "I was once one of those agents on the ground, Steve. I know so. You inspire trust and loyalty even among people who have never met you."

"He was always like that," Bucky said, smiling. "So now that Steve and Natasha have their jobs, what do the rest of us do?"

"Well," said Fury, "you and Agent Couring have just about exhausted your own information, so I think that part of your job is over, but I may need your specialized skills later. For now, though, the best thing you can do for the cause is nothing."

"Nothing?" Bucky said disbelievingly.

"Why do you think I'm alive?" Fury asked pointedly. "Scratch that. Why do you think _any_ of us are alive?"

Bucky paused. "Because they didn't send me to kill you."

"Exactly. The worst thing that could possibly happen to us would be for you to fall back into enemy hands. So the best thing you could possibly do to help is to keep yourself as far from enemy hands as possible," Fury said firmly.

"You're icing me," said Bucky.

"I'm asking you to protect our most valuable advantage," said Fury. Bucky looked as though he was going to argue more, but Fury cut him off. "And once we have Hydra's intelligence out in the open and the fight is won, I'll ask you to be our housekeeper, which should be more than enough to keep you busy for life."

"Mopping up the remains of Hydra," said Bucky. He considered it for a moment. "I want to be a part of the open fight, too, though." He looked at Steve. "Can't have you stealing all the glory."

"We'll discuss it," said Fury.

"And what can I do, sir?" I asked.

Fury said, "I don't know, Agent Couring. What _can_ you do?"

I paused, slightly taken aback. But it was a valid question. "I can ensure that you don't have to write anything down," I said. "Plans, blueprints, messages, important data of any kind. I can vault it for you."

"That may come in very handy," said Fury.

"She's the best EID we have," said Hill.

I sat up straight and tried to look worthy of that praise.

"If that's the case, then I have another job for you, Barnes," said Fury. "As well as yourself, protect Agent Couring at all costs."

I looked into Bucky's eyes and saw his answer there before he said it. _I would have done that anyway._ "I will."


	40. Chapter 40

After the meeting, I saw Steve take Bucky to the side and start talking to him with solemn eyes. I didn't want to immediately assume that I was the topic of conversation, but considering the way they had looked at each other before breakfast, I probably was. Bucky looked embarrassed, and the more Steve spoke, the redder and more uncomfortable he looked. I took a step closer and heard my name. I took that as an opening.

"Steve." I tapped his arm.

Steve stepped away from Bucky and cleared his throat. "Sorry, we were just--"

"Talking about me, I know," I said. "I thought if that was the case that I should be involved in the conversation."

They both stared at me as though I'd grown a new pair of ears.

"Bucky, would it be okay if I had a little talk with Steve?" I said sweetly.

He looked mutinous for a moment, and then glanced at Steve, and nodded. "Sure." He walked away, still a little red-faced.

"Listen, Jessie, it's really nothing to do with you," Steve began.

"My sex life has nothing to do with me? That's an interesting idea."

He stopped, and blushed bright red.

I sighed. "So it was that, right? That was what you were talking about?"

He glanced away from me and back, saying nothing. That pretty much confirmed it for me.

"Steve, does it bother you that much?"

He cleared his throat. "It's just that... I know how Bucky can be about girls sometimes."

"How's that, exactly?"

I didn't think Steve's face could get redder, but it did. "He... takes liberties."

"Well, he didn't take anything from me. I gave it to him. And it took considerable convincing. And just so we're clear, he's not the first. Does that lower your opinion of me?"

Steve looked down. "I would never think anything bad of you."

I tried to believe him. "Steve, does it bother you for me and Bucky to be together?"

He looked back up into my eyes, and I could see that his were sad. "I've seen what wartime marriages can do to women. You won't have an easy life."

I blinked. "You think we're getting married?"

"You aren't?" He sounded appalled.

"I... really hadn't... I mean, it didn't occur to me... that seems... isn't that kind of serious?" I felt myself floundering. I didn't want to say that I didn't want to marry Bucky, but at the same time the idea filled me with terror. Marriage was never something I'd planned on. It went along with things like kids and mortgages and pets and gaining weight; all the things that I'd always felt would hold me back from doing what I wanted.

"So what the two of you did wasn't serious?" he asked incredulously.

I could see this conversation going very wrong, and I tried to get my footing again. "It was, but... just how serious it was is something I need to talk to him about, not you. What I need to talk to you about is why you're so troubled."

He thought for a moment. "Are you happy?"

I nodded. "I've never been happy like I am right now."

"Then I'm happy for you," he said in a tone of voice that sounded caring, but not in the least bit happy.

I'm not sure what inspired me to say it; maybe I was just tired of pretending to ignore the obvious. "I'm not going to take him away from you," I said. "He was yours first."

Steve tried to reply and the words seemed to catch in his throat.

I took his hands in mine. "I don't need to know what there is between the two of you; I've seen enough to know that you love each other like brothers. Maybe more than that. It's not really my business. I just don't want you to feel like he loves you any less now."

He glanced over my shoulder, and I think he was looking at Bucky for a moment. His eyes softened. He looked back at me. "So when the time comes, he'll just come along and fight beside me, and you'll just... say goodbye, knowing he could be killed, and be fine with that. Is that how it is?"

He had me there. "I won't be fine with it, but I also know that's how things are going to be."

"It doesn't seem right."

"What would be right?"

"I can't answer that. War makes everything wrong," he said.

I nodded.

He cleared his throat. "You're right about one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"What there is between two people shouldn't be some third person's business, and I'm not making it mine anymore." He put a hand on my cheek for a moment, and smiled. And he walked away.

I turned around and saw him walk up to Bucky and take him by the shoulders and say something to him, and then walk off.

I went to Bucky. "What did he say to you?"

Bucky appeared baffled. "He just said, 'Be happy,' and walked off. What did _you_ say to _him_?"

"I told him he was my next conquest."

Bucky's eyes narrowed. "That should be enough to convince him that last night wasn't entirely my fault. I've fallen into the hands of an evil vixen, haven't I?"

I nodded. "No escaping me now. Especially since you've been officially assigned to me."

He put a hand on the side of my neck; we hadn't touched all morning, and my pulse quickened as his thumb stroked me just under my ear. He said, "I take that very seriously, actually. I'll need to stay alert around you."

"Ah, I see. So no more fooling around, then."

"Absolutely none," he said, moving closer to me.

"That's a shame. I was looking forward to sucking your cock again."

He blinked at me for a moment in utter shock, trying to think of something to say. I winked at him and let one of my hands brush against the front of his pants as I stepped away.

The tiny sexual charge of flirting with Bucky lasted only a few moments; I was worried about Steve now. There didn't seem to be much I could do, though.


	41. Chapter 41

Nobody seemed to bat an eyelid at Bucky and I sharing a bedroom after that; Fury assigning him to protect me legitimized it, I guess. Knowing Fury, he had probably been looking for some kind of an excuse to do just that; having two agents in a sexual relationship was probably not nearly as much of an inconvenience as having two agents trying to _hide_ a sexual relationship.

Our first night together had been magical, and had somehow cemented our status as a couple in our own hearts and minds, I think.

The second night was much like the first. The next day we woke up sleep-deprived but almost as exhilarated as we had been the prior day.

By the time the third night rolled around, I was in dire need of deep, steady sleep, and I begged my beloved but exhausting super soldier to just hold me as I drifted off. He laughed and agreed.

I woke up later to realize that my side was cold again. I sat up. "Hey."

He was sitting on the edge of the bed again. He turned and smiled. "Hi there. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's okay. Are you alright?"

"Sure, just thinking."

"Want to come back here and sleep with me again?"

"Absolutely, in just a few minutes."

I'm a bad liar myself, so I can't always tell when other people are lying either. I lay back down and almost immediately fell asleep. I woke up again maybe an hour later. I've always been a light sleeper by nature, which served me well when Bucky tried to kill me, but which wasn't so much of an advantage now. Never pair a light sleeper with an insomniac. I noticed that he was still on the side of the bed, brooding. I decided to leave him to it and address it in the morning. I fitfully slept the rest of that night, and woke up ill and sore.

But the next morning, he simply said, "I have trouble sleeping sometimes. I think I've slept enough for one lifetime."

I left it alone, thinking that he'd eventually sleep when he felt sleepy, and I would somehow survive.

He didn't sleep much that night, either. I know, because I barely slept myself.

The next day, I finally cornered him and said to him, "How long have you not been sleeping?"

"I've been sleeping."

I sat down wearily beside him and indicated another chair. He sat. The others were having a heated argument about whether to involve Tony Stark in our plans; as neither Bucky nor I knew anything about him, I figured we had some time to talk. "Okay, let's do this. I'm ready."

"Let's do what? I'm confused."

"Let's have a great big fight over whether or not you're sleeping when it's obvious that you aren't. Let's yell and scream and then not speak for two days afterward. It's been a while since we've done that; I think we're due." I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.

His eyes narrowed. "Jess, you can be a very irritating lady sometimes."

"Likewise, love. I suppose you haven't realized yet that when we share a bed and you don't sleep, I don't either?"

"I'm sorry." He seemed genuinely chagrined. "I've been trying to stay quiet at night."

"I know, Bucky, but it doesn't matter. I can feel you being awake right next to me. It's hard to explain; this didn't happen until we got to the house. But I get the feeling it's been going on for longer than that, hasn't it?"

Bucky looked at the wall, his brow furrowing a little. His eyes were dark and angry, but I sensed he wasn't angry at me. Just angry.

Natasha's words echoed in my mind: _"When was the last time you slept a full night?"_ She hadn't been making a jab at our sexual shenanigans. She had been asking him a valid question.

I said, "Bucky, how can I help?"

He shook his head. "I don't think you can. When I try to sleep, it's just like... it's... it's just difficult."

"Is it the freezer?"

"Maybe." Getting the word out seemed to cost him something.

I touched his face. "I feel stupid for not noticing this before."

"Don't be like that," he said. "I'm really okay. I sleep some. And sometimes I take naps during the day."

"Does daylight help?"

"Yeah, a little."

I heard a step in the hallway.

"There you are. I was wondering where you two ended up." Steve came in and pulled up a chair. "We don't think Stark is involved with Hydra, but he helped design the helicarriers so he may resist us on dissolving Project Insight. In other words, the vote's still out, I think."

"Sorry we ducked out," Bucky said. "Do you need us now?"

"No, but we're breaking for lunch, you interested?"

"Actually, Bucky was thinking about taking a nap," I said thoughtfully.

Bucky glanced at me. "I was?"

I looked at Steve. "He hasn't been sleeping."

Steve nodded and said, mildly, "I know. It's been going on for months."

Bucky sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's not a big deal, nursemaids."

"Nursemaids," I said. "That's actually not the worst idea." I looked at Steve. "Would you be willing to come with us for an hour or so?"

"Sure."

"Follow me, then." I stood up and took Bucky's right hand. He allowed me to pull him up.

"Please tell me we're not all going to take a nap together."

"You're going to nap. We're going to stand guard."

"What?"

"Humor me," I said. "Will you? Just once, give this a try?"

Steve said, "Buck, you've got to sleep sometime."

Bucky looked back and forth from me to Steve, and then sighed. I took it for an assent and led him to the bedroom, where I realized that he was far more tired than he had been allowing to show; he let me gently push him into bed, and blinked sleepily as I knelt to take off his shoes. "I can do that," he protested.

"I know you can," I said simply, and finished taking them off for him. I smoothed the sheets and pushed him back onto the pillow, and tucked him in.

"You're making me feel like a damn baby."

"Quit whining like one and hush." I turned to Steve. "You want to take the first watch? One hour each, I think."

Steve nodded and sat down in a chair next to the bed. "I'm on it. Buck, I'm going to sit right here, while you _sleep_. I'm not going anywhere until you do."

Bucky's face creased in annoyance, but he seemed too tired to argue. He looked at me, and for a moment, I was back in BB17 looking through the window of the freezer at him just before the ice claimed him. I saw the fear in his eyes. He said, "I'm not sure I can."

I said, "Then just close your eyes and pretend. For us."

He closed his eyes.

It took several minutes, but finally his breathing evened out and his face relaxed. I turned to Steve. He nodded at the door. "Go get something to eat," he said softly.

"Okay," I whispered, and went to join the others. After an hour, I came back to the room. Steve was sitting in the chair, looking as though he hadn't moved a muscle in that hour. He glanced up as I came in. Bucky shifted slightly in bed, but didn't wake up. I tapped Steve's shoulder and he got up and I took his place.

Steve pressed his hand into my shoulder for a moment, as though trying to communicate something. He looked at me, and I looked back at him, and we both looked at Bucky. I felt I understood what he was saying, somehow. _You and me, we've got this._ I nodded up at him. He left.

Bucky slept for another hour; nobody came looking for us, I assume that Steve told them we were not to be disturbed. I sat in the chair and watched over him. It was amazingly difficult because I was in desperate need of sleep myself, but I clenched my teeth and pinched myself and stayed awake, because he needed me to protect him from something he couldn't name. I sat there for an hour. By the end of it, I was dozing with my eyes open, but I managed to keep shaking myself awake.

Finally he turned a little and blinked himself awake. His eyes found mine. "Hi."

"How did you sleep?"

"Just fine. How long was I out?"

"A little over two hours. Steve and I kept the time. You seemed to be sleeping--" the phrase was interrupted by a yawn, "--really soundly. Sorry."

He smiled and got up, came over to me and picked me up and carried me to the bed. He always lifted me as though I weighed nothing. "Your turn. You sleep, I'll watch."

I was too tired to argue. I slept.

After that we worked out a kind of system. At night, we took turns. He sat in the chair and guarded me as I slept; that worked better at keeping me asleep than him tossing and turning or else brooding on the edge of the bed. Then when he got tired, he would wake me up and I would watch over him for shorter periods of time. He never slept for long at night.

During the day, Bucky would take a nap here and there, and Steve would watch over him. I often used these times to take naps myself in other rooms.

If Steve or I saw any evidence of him having a nightmare, we would wake him up. It was tacitly agreed between us that if Bucky had a nightmare, we wouldn't resist him staying awake.

Bucky still didn't get enough sleep to keep a normal person sane. Fortunately, he wasn't a normal person.


	42. Chapter 42

I need to digress a little bit. Those first few nights with Bucky... how to describe them.

I _want_ to describe them, desperately. Some part of me wants to go into as great a detail as possible. But I don't want to go on for days, either. Perhaps I'll just pick out a few key moments that happened between Bucky and I.

It was on the second night that I went down on him and held his hips in place as I sucked his cock, as I had warned him I would do. Now, this numbers among the things that I'm good at, and because of his magical ability to keep going, I made him come several times before I let him take a break. I watched him as much as I could, and listened when I couldn't. His voice turned me on. I could tell he was the vocal type, but he tried to stay quiet out of deference to our friends; sometimes he succeeded, sometimes he didn't. This time, he didn't.

I can still remember how he tasted; every man tastes a little bit different. He tasted musky and a tiny bit sharp, as though his skin had been rubbed with clove oil. I licked the sweat off his lower belly and swirled my way down, nuzzling into the soft hair at his groin, rubbing my tongue along the vein that traversed the underside of his dick, wrapping my lips around the head of it, teasing him, lingering over him. I let my breasts brush across his thighs as I worked on him, and I could see his hands clenching in the bed sheets, wanting desperately to grab hold of me, but I had asked him not to so he held himself back.

Every man sounds a little different, too. Bucky's voice roughened when he was aroused. He almost sounded like an animal of some kind, something large with a deep, throaty growl. After he came, though, his voice would soften and become human again for a little while as the sensations became too much for him and he begged me to stop, but only for a moment. He always recovered quickly.

When I finally got tired of using my mouth, I slid my body along his until we were face to face, and whispered, "How do you feel about the modern age now?"

"Wouldn't trade it for anything."

"You have my permission to grab me, sir."

He took it, and took a few other liberties as well. We were learning each other's bodies the way one learns a musical instrument, carefully, with practice and guidance.

I learned that he liked having the light on while we had sex, and I asked him why. He said, "Because when you finish, you get so quiet, but your face is beautiful. You close your eyes and you look like you've died and gone to Heaven."

I laughed. "Except for the occasional times when I cuss like a sailor."

"You look beautiful then too." He grinned. "I like you messy."

It was a strange word to use, but I sort of understood what he meant, especially as time went on; he liked to do everything in his power to make me lose control of myself. I guess it was because I'd spent my life as the cold, ambitious professional, and he sensed that in the way I kept myself composed around other people. Now he would take me, and I would fall into a kind of dream and later wake up remembering things I'd done and said and thinking that wasn't like me at all.

In a way, he'd always done that. He could make me angry and make me cry and make me laugh and make me _human_ like nobody else on earth had ever been able to do.

Whenever he wanted to truly drive me crazy, he would just trace the lines of my body with his metal hand, lightly, teasingly. It always made me tremble. Usually, the metal of his arm was slightly cool, but it always felt warm when he touched me in bed.

Once, I was on top of him, he was inside me, and I brought his metal hand up to my mouth and started sucking on his fingertips. I knew he couldn't feel it the same way he would have in his right hand, but something about it seemed to light a fuse inside of him; he jerked his hand away and seized my hips and thrust up into me ferociously until I came so hard I saw stars in the corners of my eyes.

I know now that when you have a few orgasms with someone, it releases all kinds of attachment hormones. What it felt like then was that we were sort of melding into a single person. It reached the point where I could feel him enter a room, even when I couldn't see him. I dreamed about him and said his name, woke up and would see him watching over me, his eyes hot and possessive.

There's just so much I can't put into words at all. I don't know why I feel it's so important to write it down; maybe I'm afraid that I'll lose it somehow.


	43. Chapter 43

"Joe?"

"Jesus Christ on a fucking cracker, Jessie. What the fuck is going on?!"

"Oh, no, what did Natasha tell you?"

"Is that her name?"

"Yeah. Forget that I told you that." I silently cursed myself for being an idiot. "It's good to hear your voice."

"It's good to hear yours too. You know, I think deep down I believed this was all some kind of elaborate prank, and then a redheaded hottie shows up and suddenly I'm being escorted through some kind of underground network..."

"Are you safe now?"

"I think so. I have no idea where I am, but there's a very very nice man here who runs around with a gun and says official-sounding things."

"Very very nice? You mean hot."

"Do I mean that? Yes. I do."

I had to smile. "Well, I'm glad you're somehow managing to have a good time."

"Don't be bitter just because you're not getting any."

I paused. As usual, too long. "Well, actually--"

My brother let out a positively piercing shriek.

"Jesus, Joe, calm down!"

"OH MY GOD YOU FINALLY DID IT, I TOLD YOU SO, I WAS SO RIGHT... Oh. Oh, sorry Lawrence. Yeah, no, I'm just talking to my sister. I said I'm sorry! Okay. No, I won't. Okay. Fine! Jessie?"

I was giggling helplessly. "Yes?"

"Deets, woman!"

"You have got to be the only person on earth who wants detailed sexual stories from your own sister, you freak."

"I don't want details about _you_ , I want details about _him_. How's his cock? Girthy?"

"Joe, has it occurred to you that this might be a party line?"

"HEY EVERYBODY, MY SISTER IS TOTALLY BONING SOMEONE!"

"I'm so glad that I've made your day."

"You actually sound glad, though. Happy, I mean."

I smiled. "I... well... yeah."

"Good for you!"

"Thanks?"

"I mean it. Are you in love?"

"Party line, Joe."

"That's a yes! You're in love! I get to plan your wedding."

"I have to go now, Joe. Big important official things to do."

"Yeah, right, what you have is big important official cock to suck."

"Byyyyyee."

I terminated the connection and felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. I cringed. "Bucky."

"Hi there. Sorry, I wasn't listening in, I only caught the goodbye. Who were you talking to?"

I turned around and gave him a kiss. "Just my brother."

He raised an eyebrow. "You have a brother?"

"I haven't told you about him?" I felt like a horrible person. "I can't believe I never told you about him. Yes, my older brother Joe. He's my only family."

"He's your _older_ brother?" Bucky asked carefully.

I squinted at him. "Let me see if I can figure out where this is going..."

He tried to look nonchalant, but his eyes were worried. "Hey, I'm just wondering whether he might be the protective older brother type."

I tried not to laugh. "Protective... not exactly. No, I wouldn't say he's that. He's, um. Very supportive of my choices, let's say." To say the least; Joe was probably still shrieking and jumping around in little circles at the thought of me getting laid. "I'm sure he would love to meet you."

"Sounds like a good idea. He must be a great guy."

"The best."

Bucky still looked a bit nervous.

I said, "He would really like you, too."

Bucky looked marginally relieved. "You think so?"

"Are you kidding me? He would love you. You're terrific." I smiled up at him. "In fact, I'd probably have to fight with him over you, he'd try to steal you from me."

"He'd try to... what?"

"Joe is gay, Bucky."

"He's a what?"

"Homosexual. He prefers men. You know?"

He blinked. "Oh."

"Is that going to be a problem for you?" I asked patiently.

He shook his head. "Nope. He's not going to try to... uh..."

"No, he wouldn't really try to steal you away from me, I was joking. I just mean he would approve of you in a lot of ways. A LOT of ways." I grinned.

Bucky blushed. "Um, good."

"You do know that it's okay to be homosexual these days, right?"

"I'm gathering that."

"It's perfectly normal for some people."

Bucky looked completely uncomfortable. "Yeah."

I had mercy on him. "It's probably not something you need to worry about."

He nodded. "I actually came to bring you to the others, apparently we're needed in the game room."


	44. Chapter 44

The game room was a large-ish ballroom in the rear of the house, fitted with pool tables, ping-pong, and various other passtimes as well as a very large table in the center of the room with a map of the world on it. The map was fitted with buckets of miniatures, everything from foot soldiers to tanks and planes. War-gaming pieces. Most of our planning and talking was being done in that room and around that table.

Bucky and I joined Fury, Natasha, Steve, Hill, and a couple of other people I didn't recognize. I knew that Fury had been quietly recruiting fringe SHIELD agents to BRAND; it was risky, but we needed more manpower. Bucky and I gravitated instinctively toward Steve, who gave us his small, serious smile.

"Agent Couring, this is Agent LeBlanc and Agent Rittinski. Agents, this is Jessie, our resident EID. Tell her what you just told me."

Rittinski, a tiny blonde girl with a strangely piercing voice, said, "Project Insight has been accelerated. Hydra is planning to launch within three weeks."

"Can they manage that?" asked Hill.

"They'll have to cut a few corners, but yes, that's probably doable," said Fury. "It's very important that we stop them before they get those helicarriers into the air."

There was some more talk about plans and strategies that I'm not going to put into writing. But the general consensus was that the escalation sucked.

After another twenty minutes of brainstorming, Fury finally let Rittinski finish giving us her report.

She said, "I intercepted a Hydra memo about a Leak within the organization. They capitalized the word 'Leak' in the memo, so I suspect it is an individual that they're referring to. The information is about an Asset, another capitalized word."

"The Asset, that would be me," Bucky said calmly.

"Which means the Leak is me," I said. I tried to sound just as calm, but there were icy chills traveling down my spine.

Rittinski said, "There was also mention of a fail-safe on the Asset. Supposedly it was activated when the Asset disappeared."

I gasped. I knew all about fail-safes, but I knew I couldn't impart the information. It was Hydra data.

"Jessie, what is it?" said Steve.

I just shook my head, closing my eyes. _No._ It was the only word I could think of.

"I don't think we need to overanalyze what a 'fail-safe' is," said Fury. "Judging by the wording and by Agent Couring's reaction, it's a way to eliminate a threat. And it's the smart move; they must have known there was the possibility they could lose control."

Bucky's jaw clenched. "So they tried to kill me."

"Tried and failed," pointed out Steve. "So something went wrong. Did the memo make any note of a failure, Agent Rittinski?"

She shook her head. "By the wording, I would judge that they thought they had pulled it off successfully. It was phrased as an answer to a question from another party. My guess would be that the question was, 'Are we sure the Asset is no longer a threat?'"

"... And the answer was no. Which is good for us."

I thought of something. "Bucky. On the drive to the Retreat... you went blank."

"That's right," said Steve. "Your face, your eyes, everything was absolutely blank. Like you weren't even there."

"I wasn't. I actually don't remember a lot of the first few days at the cabin," said Bucky thoughtfully. "So maybe they set off a kind of switch in my brain, and it went off but not enough to kill me."

"They underestimated your ability to heal," I said. "But..." the words wouldn't come out.

"Is it still there?" asked Steve. He looked horrified.

"No way to tell, not this far from our equipment at SHIELD," said Fury.

"As long as they think you're dead, they won't bother to set it off again," said Natasha. "And anyway, that sort of thing is typically single-use."

I tried to take comfort in her words, but a part of me wanted to drag Bucky off to one of the rooms, lock him in, and stand guard outside with a baseball bat. I looked up at him and he smiled. "I'm okay, Jess."

"So the Asset is dead, but the Leak is alive and at large, and therefore hunted," observed Fury. "Your job just got more difficult, Sergeant Barnes."

For the rest of the meeting, Steve kept glancing worriedly at Bucky. I only noticed because he was on the other side of Bucky and I was doing the same thing.

After the meeting wrapped up, Steve went to one of the pool tables and quietly took one of the balls and rolled it across. I heard the faint clink as it hit other balls. I looked at Bucky, who touched my cheek and then went to join his friend. "Care for a game?"

Steve looked up and paused as though he were trying to understand what Bucky was saying. He slowly nodded. "Sure."

Bucky and Steve circled the table, collecting balls from the pockets to rack them up. As Bucky passed Steve, he put a firm hand on Steve's shoulder for a moment, and the two stood still. They exchanged a look, and Bucky said something that I couldn't hear. Steve nodded, and went to the wall to pick out two cues.

I left the game room and joined Natasha and Fury for lunch. I usually felt out of my element with them, but it seemed that Steve and Bucky needed some time alone. I talked to LeBlanc (a tall, quiet man with lank black hair) and Rittinski and they were both friendly, though reserved. LeBlanc was a data analyst, but he carried himself like a fighter. I gathered that Rittinski was a double agent. I envied her. How nice it would be to find things out about the enemy and then be able to just say them out loud.

About an hour later, the boys came back up, and they were talking and laughing about something. I checked Steve's face; he seemed better.

That night, I treated Bucky like he was going to die the next day, fiercely and obsessively clinging to him for hours. He kept whispering words of reassurance to me. I tried to hear them. It was the first night that we didn't make love since we'd arrived at the house.


	45. Chapter 45

I sat down beside Steve a couple of days later. "Bucky is determined to go with you, when you go off to fight Hydra."

"I know."

I scowled. "One would think that dying once already would make him want to be more careful."

"One would think," he agreed.

"How are we going to handle this?"

Steve looked at me. "You."

"Me?"

"He'll stay to protect you."

I didn't quite know where to look. I knew that Steve was right, but something about him in particular saying so made me feel strange. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

I looked up at him. "Unless something happens to you."

Steve looked serious. "You may be right."

"Has he always been so protective of other people?" I asked.

"Well, he spent about fourteen years doing it, until I was finally big enough to protect myself," said Steve. "I guess he's in the habit of having someone to look after."

"And not in the habit of protecting himself."

"Nope. He never needed to. Buck could always handle himself." Steve paused. "In a way, I'm the lucky one... I've gotten to see the world from both sides. So I know there are times when the fight will be too much for me. Bucky never had to learn that lesson. He's going to have to learn it now. I don't think he's going to like it."

I settled back into my chair. "I don't actually like being protected very much, either. I never needed it until recently."

"I got that impression," Steve said with that small smile of his. "You know, you don't just look like Peggy. You remind me of her, too. She was... is really independent and strong."

"Me? Strong?"

"That's what I said."

"How is she, by the way?"

"I think she's okay. Still in the hospital. They say. Um." He cleared his throat. "They say she may not actually leave. Apparently she's having some mental issues now. Possibly just a side effect of the rehab."

I felt his pain like a sinking feeling in my own gut. "Christ. I'm really sorry."

"She lived a long and full life. I would like to see her again."

"You will. Fury says what, we'll be acting within the two weeks? You'll be able to see her again."

Steve nodded. "Always stay optimistic."

I sat next to Steve, who had lost the girl he loved and his best friend, and who stood to lose both of them again, just after getting them both back. Who gave up his life and his dreams to save the world from a threat, only to have to face it again and stronger than before. I sat next to him and looked at the determined look on his face, and I felt amazingly humbled. I thought, _There's a reason why they call him a hero, and it has nothing to do with his muscles. This is why people respond to him the way they do._

But his loneliness was almost like a thick cloud surrounding him; impenetrable.

I took his hand. "Steve Rogers, you are an amazing human being."

He glanced warmly down at me. "I'm just a man with a job to do."

It had taken me until now, but then, I've already told you I can be kind of slow about some things.

Everybody knows that there are different kinds of love. Family love, friend love, romantic love, etc. What I didn't know until meeting Bucky and then Steve was that there are also different kinds of "in love", too... that the word "romance" didn't quite cover all of them.

What Bucky and I had was the most typically romantic. It was passionate and exciting, fun and filled with bolts of energy that echoed back and forth between us, striking sparks everywhere we touched each other. It was the kind of love that makes you feel like a silly teenager, all awkward and hopeful. The kind of love that inspires people to get married before they're really ready to. The most transitory (even I know that), but nonetheless the kind of love that everybody wants to have.

Watching Steve and Bucky together, what I'd felt was more vicarious, some kind of a glow from the quiet, steady energy transmitted between the two of them. It was cooler, but in its own way more powerful. An earthy kind of love, instead of a fiery kind. The kind that keeps you friends with someone for decades, the kind that makes you quietly happy to be with someone for no reason at all. The kind that recognizes turns and angles and differences, sharp edges and landmines, and learns to navigate them and considers it a fair price for the reward of the deep connection you feel with that person. It was the kind of love that keeps marriages together; the kind that keeps you alive.

What I felt now was something different from both of those things. I felt myself tremble inside, looking into Steve's eyes. This feeling was so absolutely pure that I almost felt that kissing him would shatter it into pieces. It's the kind of profound adoration you form when you find someone so special that they shift your entire view on the world. A love so intense that even if it burns out, it leaves you changed forever. The kind of love that sends people to die.

I knew that I loved him, deeply. I knew that being with him had changed me; I could never have cared for Bucky at the cabin on my own. Steve had loaned me his own heart, and I had used it to love both of them more than I could have by myself.

And I knew that fate was about to ask me the same question it had asked of him: was I willing to love these two, knowing that there was a good chance I would lose them?

I knew there was no chance I'd be able to handle their loss with the same strength that Steve had.


	46. Chapter 46

The day for action was approaching, and everybody was showing signs of tension. I think if the action had come a little quicker, we would have all felt better, but we had to wait for several reasons: the sudden escalation of Insight had put Hydra on high alert, for one thing. We thought that they might relax after a few days at the new project schedule. And Natasha's plan had depended upon one of Alexander Pierce's assistants who had just been relocated, so now she had to find someone new.

Fury was snappish. I started to feel exhausted, had trouble keeping food down, and my migraines and nightmares flared up again. Bucky was a nervous-energy worrier; he constantly tapped his fingers or his foot until I thought I was going to go crazy. Steve just went over the plans over and over and over again until I was sure he must have had them memorized. Even Natasha, who never seemed to lose her cool for any reason, held her mouth more tightly than usual. The only person who kept perfectly composed was Hill. I think that woman had nerves of pure steel.

She approached me one day and said, "Jessie, may I borrow you? There's something I need to show you."

"Sure." I went with her meekly, as she still intimidated me somewhat.

We went deep into the house, at the back where it receded into the mountain face and I knew we had to be buried in solid rock. She beckoned me to go into one of the rearmost bedrooms and I followed her. It was a small, dim room, a little bit dusty and unused-looking. Hill went to one of the banisters on the bed, next to the wall, and gave the knob on top a clockwise half-turn.

A black hole appeared in the wall. I guessed that a panel had slid to the side or something, but it happened so fast that it seemed almost magical. I went to the hole and peered inside. "What's this?"

"This is our insurance on you. Come on in." She ducked into the small opening and disappeared, and I followed, crouching beneath the low tunnel which then suddenly opened up into what felt like a wide space. I heard Hill's voice, "Feel the switch on the wall behind you? Flip it."

I fumbled for a moment, but found something that felt like a switch, and flipped it. The room flickered alight. It wasn't much bigger than the room we had just left, but it was furnished very differently. This wasn't a bedroom, this was a cell. There was a small cot against one wall, a toilet with a sink against the other. The remaining wall space was almost entirely taken up by shelves and shelves of supplies; tools, rations, canned food, bottles of distilled water, toiletries, towels, blankets. The one small space that didn't have shelves was covered in live monitors that appeared to show footage from security cameras around the house. There was a tiny desk with a chair facing the monitors.

I glanced behind me; apparently the light switch was also a door switch, because the door behind us had shut. "Is this a hideout?"

"Yes. I'm going to be frank with you, Jessie, we're not sure whether Hydra will be able to mount a counter-strike or not after we attack them. If they do, they'll know where to strike, because when we declassify all SHIELD data, all of the safe houses will be compromised."

I felt myself go pale. "What about my brother?"

"He'll be okay," she reassured me. "We put him in an undisclosed location that we established after leaving SHIELD, so it's not on record yet. Hydra won't be able to find him."

"But they can find us."

"Yes, and at the moment, it's a risk to move you. The harder we make you to find, the harder we make you to rescue if something goes wrong. Sergeant Barnes is assigned to protect you, and we'll be leaving a custodial force here as well when we go live. But Fury also recommended that I show you the panic room. If anything happens to Bucky or you find yourself alone and in trouble for any reason, we want you to hide back here until reinforcements show up. We can't risk letting you fall into enemy hands, even after the war breaks out. You may know things that even you are unaware of, that Hydra can get out of you." She moved around the room. "As you can see, there are sufficient rations that you can stay here for up to three weeks if you're careful. The chemical toilet is separated from the rest of the plumbing in the house, and it will keep the air around it clean for up to a month. We have carbon dioxide scrubbers in the walls in place of air vents, and the door is three inches thick; it locks into the wall like a safe when the light is on, so it can't be activated from outside when someone is in here. You'll be perfectly safe."

I went to the tiny desk and looked at the monitors; they mostly covered the public areas, there were too many bedrooms to watch them all at once. I felt relieved; hopefully Bucky and I hadn't been on Candid Camera. "So I can stay here for three weeks, then what?"

"If it takes longer than that for us to come get you, you can assume that we're all dead and the cause is lost anyway. Give yourself up and let them have what they want. Nobody is expecting you to give your life to keep your secrets."

I nodded. "But Bucky would never let that happen."

"Understood, and we hope so too, but modifications aside, we have to assume that it's still possible to kill him. If that happens, take cover here. There's something else." She picked up a small box and opened it and showed me the contents. They appeared to be large-ish pills, smooth and black, about the size of fish oil capsules.

"What are they?"

"Tracking devices, tuned to the consoles in this house. You turn them on by squeezing them like this, until you hear a soft click. Then you swallow it. They're harmless and inert, you won't digest them, but while they're going through your digestive system you can be tracked by us. Swallow one if you think you're about to be captured. Do it even if you think we're all dead."

I nodded, staring at the pills. The more she told me, the more nervous I felt.

"One more thing." She looked at me directly. "Do not tell anybody about this place."

"Not even Bucky?"

"Especially not him. If you're hiding in here, that means that he's been killed or captured, and if he's captured, he can't know where you are."

I looked around the room and shivered. It didn't look like a fun place to live for three weeks.

"Like I said, Jessie, this is our last line of defense. Fury and I hope you won't end up in here, but something tells me you may end up being grateful that there's a place like this on the grounds."

I already didn't feel grateful. I felt sick to my stomach again. "Thank you."

"To leave, just turn out the light first and then hit this switch here."

We left the room. When we exited, the door closed and became a part of the wall, completely indistinguishable from the wall itself.


	47. Chapter 47

I knew that Bucky would feel torn between protecting me and watching Steve's back in battle, but I didn't anticipate just how bad it would get for him. He stopped sleeping almost entirely. When Steve tried to make him, they ended up arguing instead, which surprised me as I'd only ever seen them argue once, back at the cabin when Steve had tried to get Bucky to promise him he wouldn't die. Now Bucky was doing to Steve what he had once done to me; needling him with cruel little jokes, trying to get Steve to lose his temper. Steve refused to lose his temper, but he got steadily more morose and tight-lipped.

I hated it. _Hated_ it. In some way, I depended upon these two to keep my own self whole. If they were divided, it tore me to pieces as well. It made me even angrier that Bucky wouldn't just admit to vulnerability so that he and Steve could talk about it.

I felt tired and sick all the time now. I slept a lot. Plans had been finalized, we were all just waiting for the right moment, so there was no need of me in the game room anymore.

One night, Bucky was kissing me and I thought I was kissing him back just as eagerly, when he drew back from me and said, "Okay, out with it."

"What?"

"I feel like I'm kissing a wooden statue. Why are you so tense? What did I do this time?" We hadn't even begun to argue, and already there was tense anger in his voice.

Oh, well, what the fuck ever. I was tense and angry too. "Does it make it easier for you?"

"Does what make what easier?"

"You being angry with Steve all the time. Will it make it easier for you when he leaves?"

Bucky looked as though I'd just slapped him. He blinked at me for a moment, and then rolled off me to stare at the ceiling for a few moments. He finally said, "It gets tiring after a while, you know."

"What does?"

"Your constant psychoanalysis of me."

I sighed. "I'm sorry. I just hate seeing the two of you fight."

"Then don't look."

"At the world's two most attractive men? Not a chance."

Bucky turned to look at me, and then propped himself up on his elbow. His face was dark. "Is this how you ease in to telling me you want him instead of me?"

"No," I said quietly. "I don't want him the way I want you. But I love him. Don't you?"

His eyes softened. "Who wouldn't? He's perfect, right? Always has been. Even in the days when he was a skinny little shrimp, he had more character than me. More nobility."

"Probably a good thing that I wanted to have sex with you more than with him, then. He would never have debased himself so far."

Bucky grinned. "A little debasement never hurt anybody. I'm glad you picked me."

"You lucky bastard."

"I don't deny that. Are we going to stay up all night talking about Steve, or is this flirting going to go somewhere?"

"Tell you what... if you'll talk to him in the morning... _talk_ to him, not pick on him... we can drop the subject for this evening."

Bucky studied me for a moment. "You drive a hard bargain, woman."

"If you want to drive a hard one too, you'd better agree."

"... Yes, I will talk to him."

I spent a moment looking at him. His dark hair was tousled, the muscle lines under his skin turned white and black by the shadows of the moonlight, with tiny glints along his left arm where reflections struck the metal. He could still make my mouth go dry with want. I reached for him.

This time, perhaps because I had broken the mood, he took me with a kind of cool reserve; obviously aroused, but very much in control of himself. He observed me as he entered me, and I felt exposed; I shivered. He whispered, "Do you know what I love? This right here," and he traced the line of my collarbone across my chest.

I pulled him into a kiss as he started to move. "I love your mouth."

"I love your hair. So soft..."

"I love your shoulders..."

We took turns telling each other what we loved about the other's body and touching each other, until I finally saw the sweat glinting on his skin and felt his breath rise and knew he was losing some of that cool control. Finally he reached down and pulled my knee up toward his ribs, tilting my hips up toward him, something that he knew would drive me over the edge. I began to lose myself, closing my eyes...

"I love you," he gasped into my ear.

I came, feeling that _I love you_ like a warm wave vibrating my entire body. He followed me soon after, his breath hot against my ear.

I wondered whether he'd ever said it before. I decided he hadn't, if it was that difficult for him to work up to.

I held him close and wouldn't let him roll off me; he actually fell asleep pillowed on my breasts for a few minutes. Lying there and stroking his hair while he slept was the most peaceful I have ever felt in my life.


	48. Chapter 48

"I have good news and bad news, Joe."

"Tell me the bad news first, I think that's the usual protocol, right?"

"The bad news is, some dangerous things are about to happen that I can't tell you about."

"... and the good news?"

"You and I may get to see each other again soon."

"I'd like that a lot. I miss you, bratface."

I tried to respond and found myself swallowing a lump in my throat. The past few weeks had made me remarkably emotional. I tried again, "Miss you too."

We exchanged a few more words and hung up; mostly I was trying not to cry. I _did_ want to see my brother again, and badly.

Bucky, true to his word, had patched things up with Steve and the two were spending as many waking moments together as they could. I didn't protest. For one thing, I had Bucky during the nights, so it seemed fair that Steve could have him during the days. For another thing, I had something else to worry about. Something big.

For the past few weeks, I had been sick to my stomach every day, extremely tired despite getting very little exercise, prone to taking naps, and I was getting increasingly emotional. I had also been having a crazy amount of really good sex.

But it wasn't until I realized that I was about three months late for my Depo shot that it occurred to me that I might be pregnant.

Once that occurred to me, the signs were obvious. My body was letting me know that something was different: before, I had always been the main event. Now, I was just a passenger along for the ride. I couldn't control my appetite or my need for sleep or my moods. I could just barely manage to hide them from the others. Fortunately, everybody was so stressed and tense that it was easy to slide things past them.

The biggest question of course was whether to tell Bucky.

You would have thought that my biggest question would be whether or not to keep it, but strangely, that never even occurred to me. The moment I realized it was true, I _wanted_ to have his baby. I'm guessing that was mostly the hormones talking, or the fact that I was stupidly in love with him. And anyway, I'd never exactly been averse to kids; I liked kids. They had just always seemed like a liability before.

I decided not to tell him until after the big mission was complete and Hydra was on the run. I couldn't think of a single good thing that would result from my telling him now. He already worried about me. This would turn that pathological. And it would make him afraid; I knew that because of how it made _me_ afraid. I was more terrified than I'd ever been in my life.

I kept waiting for him to read my mind again like he sometimes did, but he never did. He just kept telling me that everything would be alright, that he would protect me, which told me that he assumed my fear was all about Hydra.

We still had sex every night. My libido was off the charts--I have no idea if that happens to every pregnant woman or not--and Bucky could barely keep up with me.

When Bucky was asleep and I was watching over him, I always found myself fighting tears. I was tempted to tell him just so that I would feel less alone. That day at the Smithsonian had _nothing_ on this; now I was not only alone, I had a baby to protect, and I knew exactly jack shit about babies and protecting people.

Well, I actually had something more along the lines of a tadpole to protect, but my incompetence there was no less complete. I hadn't even owned a pet since I was a kid. I think once I had some sea monkeys from a chemistry set, and managed to kill them within the first five minutes.

To try to forget my situation, and because I still had time on my hands and a ton of shit to worry about and nobody to really talk to, I started writing all of this down.

So now you know, whoever you are. You are reading the self-therapy of a desperate, frightened woman with a great memory and iffy judgment (and terrible handwriting; sorry about that). I'm actually kind of surprised by how quickly it all poured out of me, and by how comforting it's been to go through all of it. This has been a really bizarre time for me. I've tried to avoid writing down anything that would compromise the mission (trust me, the little I've told you is a drop in the bucket of the plans they've made, and I've left out several key people). And because it's the only place I really feel safe putting it, I've been storing this notebook in the panic room.

Now back to our story.

The big day came, and everybody had their roles except for Bucky and myself, who were sort of awkwardly standing around and saying goodbye to everybody.

Steve leaving was hard, harder than I had imagined it would be. He gave me a warm, tight hug, and I felt lost in his arms for a moment; for the first time I noticed his smell... warm and clean, like laundered towels. It suited him. I kissed his cheek and whispered, "Come back alive. We need you."

"I'll do my best. You stay safe."

Then he and Bucky said goodbye, and what little composure I thought I'd had was absolutely demolished. Bucky and Steve hugged each other like they never wanted to let go, and when they parted, both had tears in their eyes. Bucky tried to speak, and couldn't. Steve just said, "I will be back. I _will_." Bucky nodded, and then he walked out of the room. I decided to let him have a little bit of space, but I fully intended to have a good mutual angstfest later on with him if he let me.

Then Fury, Natasha, Steve, Hill, and several other agents were gone. I put my hand against the window as I watched the chopper lift off and zoom off into the distance. Then I went to find Bucky.

It took me much longer than I expected; he was hiding in a dark corner, crying in that awful, throat-catching way that a person cries when they're trying desperately to stop. He stood up when I found him, and said, "I can't... I should have gone with him. I should have gone."

I paused for a second, feeling completely horrible. And then I threw myself into his arms and we cried on each other for a little while.

Once the sobs quieted, he started kissing me, and I let him. I felt the same way he did; we wanted to feel something other than this awful, sinking sense of loss and bewilderment. So we went back to our room and made love fiercely and desperately. We slept for a little while, wrapped in each other.

We knew it would be hours, maybe over a day, before we heard anything.


	49. Chapter 49

I'm writing these words from the panic room. I only have a short time before I have to stop writing, so I'll keep this as short as I can.

At first, we thought we had won. The mission succeeded, and all of Hydra was revealed for what it was. There was a big open fight in the Triskelion, and they attempted to launch the helicarriers, but we had stormed the castle before they were ready for us and those ships never got off the ground.

Once open war broke out, Bucky started practically coming out in hives to go join them. But he stayed here with me for three days, until Steve finally messaged us and said that he had just cleared BB17 and wanted Bucky's help for a few hours to identify some of what had gone on there. For some reason, there were no files on Bucky. Nothing in SHIELD, nothing they could find in BB17.

That lifted the interdiction. Bucky looked at me with begging eyes and said, "I need to go. He needs my help."

Of course I told him to go. It was a full two days past the time when we had expected any kind of a counter-strike. None had happened. Hydra was on the run. And anyway, LeBlanc and Rittinski would still be here to watch over me.

About an hour after Natasha picked Bucky up in the chopper, I went to the panic room (just in case) to check that everything was ready for me there, and that all the cameras were working. While I was shut up in the room, I saw them on the monitors: the Hydra counter-strike.

There were at least fifty of them.

There are a lot of things I don't know. I don't know how they knew we were here. I don't know why they still wanted me. I don't know how they knew when to show up.

I can make some guesses, though... let's say that instead of launching an offensive, they sent teams to all safe houses convenient to D.C. and waited to see any activity. When they saw people here, the teams were gathered here. They saw the chopper land and take off, and that's when they struck. And I'm guessing they still want me because I know things about Hydra that BRAND hasn't found and released. I remember that everything Hydra gave me to study was on a portable device, so maybe there's no central data storage for Hydra... maybe it's all distributed. Maybe I have more of it than I'm supposed to.

So the Leak is still a liability. Maybe they have some way to get into my vault.

They overwhelmed and killed LeBlanc and Rittinski in seconds--I wish I had time to cry for them--and were then pouring into the house, searching it from top to bottom. Searching for me, I know it.

They're searching for me now. Eventually they're going to find this room somehow. They have gadgetry with them, they're even scanning the walls for heat signatures, I think. Anywhere they think I might be.

If all they wanted to do was kill me, they could have dropped a bomb. I think they want me alive.

What scares me more than anything is that I recognized one of the faces of the Hydra agents when they were pouring into the house, directing a small group of them. It was Thirty, my old boss. The scientist. That fucking slime. I don't want to think about what he could do to my brain if he caught me. He and the other Hydra scientists are experts at manipulating memories.

I have concerns. Not about the mission plans, because those have already succeeded. I have other fears.

It's unlikely, but they might still have a fail-safe on Bucky that they can activate again. If that's the case, I don't want them to know that Bucky is alive. If they saw him get on the chopper, then that's moot, but they might not have seen.

But more than that, I absolutely do not want them to know that I'm carrying Bucky's child. There's no telling what abilities or mutations it might have. If they can wrestle that knowledge from me, Thirty will want that child and they'll carry me away and put us both into a pit so deep and dark that nobody will ever find us again, until they've grown a new super soldier.

I don't want them making guesses at it, either. So I also don't want them to know that I am in love with Bucky, and since I was pretty much from the first moment I saw him, that means I need to forget him.

It's truly best if I don't know these things.

I _can't_ know these things.

This notebook is my record of everything. I can't destroy it in here, there's no way to make a fire and no document shredder. The only safe place to hide it is the room I'm currently in; the room that they're going to find if they keep searching long enough.

The only way to stop them from searching for the room is for them to find me outside of it.

I've already switched on one of the tracking capsules and swallowed it. I'm ready.

So let these pages stand as my memory of everything that has happened over the past year, everything that has changed in me. Let it stand as my memory of loving and being loved. Let it stand as the only evidence I have that I was so very human.

And then, let me forget that any of it ever happened. If I vault an entire year, that's enough data to severely damage my memory. If I can't rely on the vault, I can rely on the damage. You can break into a locked box, but it won't matter if most of the contents are shattered.

I know the words. I've never tried to use them on myself, but I know I can do it. I just have to take a deep breath and say them aloud.

When I was a kid, we used to put our hands on the black metal bars of the playground gate and see who could keep holding it the longest, who could endure the most pain. I always won. I can endure this. I can endure anything.

I can do this.

I have to do this.

To whomever finds this notebook: My name is Jessie Couring and I am an EID of BRAND, and the girl who loves Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. If you can get this document to any one of these three people, for the love of god, please do it.

Now, for my baby, and for Bucky:

The past year of my life is now vaulted. Everything that has happened to me will be forgotten as soon as I step outside of this room, including the fact that this room even exists.

I can already feel it working. It hurts. Fuck, it hurts.

I'm so afraid right now.


	50. Chapter 50

"Jessie, wake up. I can tell that you're waking up. I saw those eyelashes flutter. Come on, we're waiting for you, wake up."

I opened my eyes and saw a face I knew. Who was it?

 _Oh. My brother, Joe. I know him._ I smiled at him; smiling hurt. "Hey, jerkface."

"Hey brat," he said softly. "You had us worried for a little while there."

I blinked a few times, trying to get my blurry vision to clear. I was in a hospital bed. I felt as though I'd been hit by a truck. It hurt to breathe.

There were several people in the room. One of them was Steve Rogers, to my surprise. I stared at him for a moment. Standing beside him was a man just as handsome as he was, in a different way; he had shaggy black hair and was in black clothing and his left arm was made entirely of metal. That was interesting. Both he and the Captain were watching me with large, sad eyes.

My head felt strange, as though it were floating above my body. "My head hurts."

The metal-armed man came and sat down beside me. "Jess, I'm here. I should never have left you. Sorry doesn't begin to cover it."

I felt a little embarrassed; he was acting like I knew him. Nobody ever called me _Jess_. I spent a few moments trying to place him, and then said, "I'm sorry, but I don't know who you are."

The metal-armed man looked at me with a kind of horror in his eyes. "Jess, what have you done?"

"I suspected as much," said a tall black man with an eyepatch in the corner of the room. "She vaulted herself."

"She what?" said the Captain.

"She made herself forget," said the metal-armed man, softly. His eyes were filling with tears. "She forgot me. She forgot everything."

A tall brunette woman walked into the room with a notebook in her hands. Her eyes were sad (why was everybody so sad?), and she handed the notebook to the metal-armed man. "I found this hidden in a secure location in the house. She must have written it to help herself remember."

The man took the notebook and opened it, flipping through the first few pages. He closed his eyes. "No."

"Excuse me, are you saying that I wrote that?" I pointed at the notebook.

The metal-armed man gently placed the notebook into my hands, and then he left the room. The Captain followed him, saying, "Bucky... wait..."

Some of my memories were resurfacing. I remembered the pale man and how he questioned me about something called Hydra. I didn't tell him anything. There was nothing to tell; I didn't know anybody named Hydra. He had continued to question me for hours, finally getting frustrated, and then he had cursed at me and slapped me, and then had thrown me to the ground. I remembered feeling strangely weak and dizzy, as though something awful had happened to my mind. _Vaulted._ They said I had vaulted myself. But that would be a pretty severe thing to do to myself, wouldn't it? How much had I made myself forget? Everything after that was dark. My throat was sore, as though I'd been screaming.

I opened the notebook, and the pages were filled with my own messy handwriting. I looked up at my brother. "Joe, what happened to me?"

He shook his head. "You were captured. These guys rescued you before you were really badly hurt, which, thank fucking god considering the baby. Which is another thing; were you planning on telling anybody?"

"Telling anybody what?" I was baffled.

"Telling anybody you were pregnant, you doofus. Did you even know?"

I felt myself turn pale. "I'm what?"

"You don't remember?"

"Getting pregnant? Was I raped?"

"Lord no. You were in love."

I raised an eyebrow. "Me. I was in love. Really."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Just, read the notebook honey. I'll verify everything in it for you, as will the nice man with the shiny arm assuming we can get him to stop pouting and come back in here."

"Are you sure I'm pregnant?"

"The doctor is sure you're pregnant, and that's good enough for me."

"Who's the father?" I whispered. For a moment I thought it might be Captain America, and that seemed a mixture of hilarious and awful at once: having sex with the Captain and then forgetting all about it.

"Hold on, I'll get him back in here."

Joe brought the metal-armed man back in with him, and pretty much dragged him over to a chair and sat him down. The man looked utterly miserable. The Captain returned as well, his eyes nearly as miserable.

Joe said firmly, "Talk to her. She remembers you, she just doesn't know it yet."

I stared at the man, trying desperately to remember having sex with him. Why would I have vaulted something like that? I said, "What is your name?"

"Bucky Barnes," he said sadly. He reached toward me with his metal hand and gently touched my shoulder. I felt a shiver run through my entire body at his touch. Something about him made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

"Bucky Barnes," I repeated. "Are... are we in love?"

Bucky said, "We were."

"And you will be again," Joe said impatiently. "Now read, Jessie." He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Bucky and I will be right here."

I had a tendency to spoil endings for myself, so I flipped to the last written page as everybody except Joe and Bucky filed out of the room.

_To whomever finds this: My name is Jessie Couring and I am an EID of BRAND, and the girl who loves Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. If you can get this document to any one of these three people, for the love of god, please do it._

"Um, Captain?" I said timidly.

He turned back from the door and came to the bed, his eyes kind. "What do you need, Jessie?"

"You need to stay too, according to this." I showed him the page, feeling my face get red.

"What does it say?" asked Bucky. I showed it to him as well. He sat back in his chair and said, "Huh." He looked at the Captain. "Both of us?"

Steve Rogers looked at Bucky, and then at me, and then back at Bucky.

"Well, this should certainly be interesting," Joe said cheerfully. "Now get cracking. I want to rewrite the ending as soon as possible."

I turned back to the first page and obediently began to read.

_It started with a message, an urgent message from Pierce to Number Fifteen-Oh-Seven, so classified that it couldn't even be committed to paper, but complex enough to require an EID. That would be me..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are heartbroken: I am working on a sequel.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE: I am finally beginning to post the sequel! It's... kind of long. So exciting!


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